#remember to warm up and stretch while doing art

[seventeendeer]

as a fat person who's always clamoring for more interesting fat characters in media, I honestly think one of my all-time favorite depictions of a fat character is Jumba from the original Lilo and Stitch - both visually and personality wise

from a design perspective, even though he's an alien, he has so many little anatomy quirks that make him a more believable fat character than many fat human designs in other media. I love the realistic sag and layering of the fat on his arms, the lack of neck definition, the rim of chub around his face and upper back, the way his back is rounded. his clothes pull taut and pinch in anatomically accurate places (e.g. shoulders are firmer = smoother outlines, the sides and back are squishier = bumpier outlines).

and he's stylized so well! all these great details boiled down to some simple shapes and pen strokes. IMO the Lilo and Stitch art style is extremely appealing - it's warm and clean and visually pleasing, but every character is super unique. Jumba isn't supposed to be pretty, but even though he's a very large, very fat, bald older guy who spends most of the movie in crop tops, the way he's stylized and staged makes it clear the audience is supposed to find him interesting to look at, and variably intimidating/cool/powerful/capable. he's often funny, but the physical aspect of his comedy is derived from being so hefty the other characters struggle to prevent him from barreling ahead and doing whatever he wants; being fat makes him come off more in control of the funny situations he gets into, not less. also, because the art style is what it is, a lot of his character acting also just makes him look kind of cute ... though that's universal across the cast

I also really like the fact that his size clearly gives him both realistic advantages and realistic disadvantages. along with having a stronger sense of agency in the comedic scenes, his size in combination with his impulsivity also makes him a more intimidating antagonist. you never know what he's going to do, and his size makes it difficult for other characters to stop him when he's made up his mind. at the same time, it seems to take him longer to catch his breath, he sometimes grunts when moving around a lot to imply it takes more effort, and he clearly struggled to find clothes that fit him when putting together his disguise. I think it's awesome that the character's size impacts how he interacts with the world so much, and again, in relatable ways

and personality wise, it is ALWAYS great to see fat characters portrayed as intelligent - not only is Jumba an accomplished scientist, he's also crafty and witty! a few quiet scenes imply a philosophical side, as he ponders on Stitch's existence and feelings as a living weapon. with Stitch explicitly being made in his own image to an extent, I'd argue there's even room to interpret some of the things he says about Stitch being hints to how he sees himself; we never learn much about Jumba's past, but it's clear he's a social misfit and strongly defiant. I don't think it's a stretch to assume some of what he said to Stitch about being a monster who can never belong anywhere was intended to read as projection (which makes it all the more heartwarming when both of them find a place to belong on Earth)

it's also a nice twist that toward the end, Jumba is the one who is unexpectedly compassionate toward Nani, while Pleakley tries to urge him to ignore her. again alluding to a level of emotional depth and intelligence that is often missing from even well-intentioned depictions of fat people. his character isn't even fully explored, and yet he's one of the most dynamic and interesting supporting characters in a movie full of fantastic characters. the audience is expected to find him fascinating and even sort of mysterious, and he is!

the sequels and spinoffs were more merchandise-driven franchise fluff for kids than the artsy direction of the original movie, but even so, I remember Jumba went on to become Lilo's lovable, amoral uncle figure, which I also thought was so fun as a kid. I love that they committed to the fact that he was more caring and compassionate than he seemed. not only was he a cool evil mad scientist character, but he was also eventually ... a friend ...

and he was even gay

[ririleil]

“you… want me to do that? tetsu, are you serious?”

your boyfriend kuroo tetsurou leaned against the bedroom doorframe, shirt already discarded and his tall frame stretching like he’s posing for a nude portrait specifically painted by you, muscles flexing as he did his stretch. and with that smug handsome grin of his, it would be easy for him to get what he wanted.

“yes.” he said, slow and deliberate. “remember what we agreed on months ago? even though it was a joke? i was so serious about that, babe. i want to be completely covered with red lipstick. from head to toe. everywhere. marked up by you.”

“the way you're saying it sounds like you earned it.”

“i did earn it!” he huffed, folding his arms and clearly proud about it. “aced all my majors in midterms. as well as chem, calculus, even the literature one you helped me cram for.”

“hmmm. i don't know…” you cocked your head as if you were in thought, but in truth, you were just stalling and teasing him— waiting to see how long would it take to get a reaction out of him.

“this is how you want to celebrate? being covered in lipstick like a canvas? couldn't you think of anything else?”

“yes, yes, yes. yes to all that. i just want you to paint me however you like with your lips, baby.”

you wheezed at the random petname and the way kuroo had said it. this man is an absolute dork, he's so utterly stupid, you thought to yourself. you sighed and rolled your eyes, but your lips curled upward anyway. it's never a bad idea to spoil your loving boyfriend every now and then right?

“alright, fine. you earned your prize, you nerd.”

he sat on the bed immediately with that stupid smile on his face, watching you rummage through your vanity for that one obnoxiously red lipstick you never wear in public but still kept it anyways for future use.

guess it's finally useful now.

kuroo's skin felt warm under your touch when you climbed on top of him and straddled his lap, his breath hitching as you did so. you popped the lipstick cap off with a little 'click' and you applied the cosmetic thickly across your lips, letting out a soft ‘pop’ afterwards to even out the color.

you start slow. you planted a kiss to his cheek first, where a red stain bloomed after your lips left his skin.

“i’ll save your lips for last.” you muttered and his smirk twitched even wider.

then you planted another kiss to his neck, down to his shoulder. his collarbone. his chest. you trailed them over his arms, watching the blotches of crimson bloom like red peonies across his lush skin.

“you’re enjoying this way too much,” you murmured as you moved lower, red-tainted lips just grazing over the edge of his ribcage.

“can't help it. you look hot when you’re focused,” he breathed, voice a little hoarse now.

you hummed noncommittally, leaving messy lipstick prints along the ridges of his abs, one right above his belly button. and then…

you paused.

your lips hovered, barely brushing the skin just above his v-line. you looked at him straight in the eye with an intense gaze and his breath hitched audibly as he felt your feather-like touch on the sensitive skin down there.

your hands settled on to the line of his hip, while kuroo’s hands grip the bedsheets. his head tipped back against the headboard.

“babe…”

“mhm?” you look up through your lashes, eyes innocent but your tone anything but that.

he swallowed, adam's apple bobbing up and down. “you’re not gonna stop there, right?”

you trailed your index finger just over the waistband of his sweatpants and smeared a bit of the lipstick there as if it was an accident.

then you suddenly leaned up, grabbing his jaw with one hand and planting a deep, red kiss right on his lips.

smack.

you pulled back, tracing the now-smeared red stain across his mouth with your thumb as kuroo stared at you with a wide-eyed expression on his face.

“there. all done.”

he blinked at you.

“…huh?”

you hopped off the bed with a small smile, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “thanks for being my art project, love. that was fun but i’mma wash my face now.”

“wait. what— that's it?”

you threw him a wink as you walked toward the bathroom.

“study harder next time for finals, ace it, then maybe i’ll let you earn the rest.”

behind you, kuroo groaned into his pillow, fists clenched in the sheets.

“you're so cruel…”

author's notes: this drabble is less sentimental and more sensual. also, i had no idea what kuroo actually majored in college so i just dumped whatever popped in my head.

temp. m.list

divider: @cursed-carmine

© ririleil 2025 | do not copy, modify, repost, or translate without my permission

[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[malsmind]

shut up for a second

𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

contains ➛ ★ big dick!chris ★ size kink ★ crying ★ mentions of smoking weed ★ praising ★ dirty talk ★ slight dumbification ★ pet names ★ creampie ★

𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!

word count: 1.3k

you don’t really know how you ended up here.

well, that’s not true. you do — you remember the smoke swirling around the living room, the low hum of music in the background, the lazy conversation that turned into lazy touches. the way chris had looked at you with that smirk, those heavy-lidded eyes that meant trouble, the slow way his fingers ran over your thigh while you passed the blunt back and forth. and now… now you’re straddling him on the couch, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his waist, your hoodie pushed up around your ribs, your shorts long gone. he’s warm under you, hands already resting on your hips like he belongs there. like this is something you both do all the time. it’s not. not exactly.

but maybe it should be.

“you feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he murmurs, voice already breathy, already dragging through his throat like he’s deep in it. “so tight—holy shit.”

you’re only halfway down.

your jaw clenches, breath catching in your throat. the stretch is slow and heavy, the high making it ten times worse—every nerve dialed up, every breath in your lungs tasting like smoke and tension. he’s not small. you’ve known that. you should’ve remembered that. but you’re too far in to stop now.

“chris…” you whisper, barely a warning. not sure if it’s a plea or a threat.

but he keeps going, hands tightening on your waist like he can’t help himself. “can’t believe how warm you are, shit—look at you. takin’ me so slow. bein’ so good for me.”

your eyes flutter shut, face scrunching, lips parting as you try to focus on breathing. he might be enjoying this part, but you’re hovering between pain and pleasure, trying to find the edge where one bleeds into the other. he groans again—loud, needy—and starts to say something else and nope, you’re done.

you reach out and slap your hand over his mouth.

“chris, shut up for a fuckin’ second…” you breathe, voice cracking, barely able to get the words out as your thighs tremble and you slowly, finally, sink down the rest of the way.

his eyes widen a little, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. just grins under your hand, groaning into your palm as you bottom out on him with a soft, broken whimper. your head spins. your body goes hot all over. you stay there, not daring to move yet, just breathing, letting your body adjust. your fingers are still pressed against his cheek, your palm over his lips, and he looks so amused by all of this. he raises his brows at you, as if to say, are you done yet? you slowly pull your hand away from his mouth. roll your hips once. then again.

he groans out loud, head tipping back against the couch. “that big, huh?” he huffs a laugh, the cockiness returning full force. “needed to fuckin’ concentrate on takin’ my dick.”

you roll your eyes, leaning forward slightly, your palms flat against his chest now. “i swear to god,” you mumble, “i’ll hold your mouth shut again.”

he’s grinning up at you now, hands moving to your hips again, helping you move, slow and steady.

“ion think you will, ma,” he says, his voice smug. too smug. “not when you feel this good. not when you’re grippin’ me like that.”

you breathe out hard through your nose, trying to hold onto your pace, trying not to lose yourself in how full you feel, how good the pressure is, how he fits like you were built to take him. every roll of your hips makes your stomach flutter and your thighs tremble. he watches you like you’re a damn piece of art.

“c’mon,” he murmurs, guiding your movements, fingers pressing into your skin just right. “tell me how it feels. tell me how fuckin’ big that dick is.”

“chris—” you warn, but your voice falters, choked with need.

“nah, nah. you know you love it,” he keeps going, voice low. “look at that pussy. fuckin’ milkin’ me dry.”

you let out a broken sound, head dropping forward, forehead resting against his shoulder as your pace falters for a second. your whole body feels like it’s on fire. overstimulated and desperate and high—like every word out of his mouth is crawling under your skin in the worst, and best way.

he kisses the side of your face, grinning against your cheek. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this. dumb n’ needy. can’t even ride me properly, hm?”

you gasp softly, hips stuttering. “shut up—”

“you can’t even stop,” he says, voice dropping lower now. less teasing. more wrecked. “feels too good, huh? that it?”

you nod, barely. lips brushing his collarbone. you’re too far gone to argue. the way he fills you is too much. too perfect. it hurts a little still, but you love it—you live for this kind of overwhelming stretch. and he knows it. he knows what he’s doing to you. he lifts his hips a little, meeting you halfway.

“fuck, ’s so big…” you moan.

“mhmmm. there it is,” he breathes, hands tightening on you. “ride me, baby. just like that.”

you try. god, you try. your legs are shaking and your thoughts are scattered and you’re doing your best to keep going but it’s getting harder and harder to keep control.

“chris,” you whimper, voice barely there.

he kisses your jaw, still smiling. “you gonna cum?”

you nod, lips parting, breath catching.

“use me, then,” he murmurs, his voice low and hot and sweet like honey. “take what you need.”

and you do. you roll your hips faster now, harder, your thighs burning and your moans getting louder as your body takes over. chris groans under you, hands moving up your back, pulling you closer. your chest is flush against his now, your face buried in his neck, breath hitching every few seconds as the knot in your stomach coils tight and hot.

“thereee ya go,” he whispers, lips at your ear. “come on, baby. fuckin’ cum on this big dick. lemme feel it.”

his hands move to your ass, helping you grind down harder, deeper, until you’re trembling and crying out against his throat. you come hard, body curling in on itself, nails digging into his shoulders as you gasp and whimper, shaking. he holds you through it, whispering praises into your skin, voice cracking with how hard he’s trying not to lose it himself.

“that’s it… that’s it, ma… fuck—”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until he touches your cheek, brushing away the tears.

“you okay?” he asks softly, suddenly all gentle again.

you nod into his neck. “feels too good,” you mumble.

“i know,” he says. “i know, baby.”

you start moving again, slowly, almost mindlessly. still riding the high. still chasing something. he groans, hands on your hips again, letting you keep going even though your legs are weak and you’re still shaking.

“you’re insane,” he mutters. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect. can’t believe—shit—”

you feel him twitch inside you. and then his voice breaks.

“fuck, i’m gonna—”

you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel him throb, his whole body tensing underneath you. he pulls you down hard, hips jerking up once, twice—and then he groans loud into your neck, teeth sinking lightly into your skin as he comes. deep. warm. thick. you both go still.

just breathing. his arms stay around you. your head stays on his shoulder. the air is thick and quiet and buzzing with whatever just happened. a minute passes.

“i really did have to concentrate,” you mumble, half-laughing.

he laughs too, breathless. “yeah? and i made it hard?”

“you never shut up.”

“that’s crazy,” he says, grinning. “because you still came all over me.”

you smack his chest. “shut up.”

he kissed your forehead. “you love it.”

[mcrdvcks]

sparks fly (pt.2) ༉‧₊˚.

chapter summary: You were Bucky's neighbor while he was a congressman and staying in New York. When Valentina announces them as the New Avengers, Bucky and the team go with him to pack up his apartment. But then you show up, calling him "James." word count: 13.9k+ (26.3k+ in total) pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: thank you to Thunderbolts* for reviving my bucky obsession. this is my first time writing for him, and i have a feeling my characterization is a little off, but just roll with it. also, i realized like halfway through writing that bucky as a congressman most likely lived in DC not NYC, so... let's just assume he also had a nice place in new york, okay? there are 2 parts to this oneshot, thanks to tumblr's word limit warnings/tags: the Thunderbolts are a happy family, fluff, like so much fluff, neighbor!reader, jessica jones, matt murdock, mentions of wilson fisk, references to season 3 of jessica jones, slight violence, slight angst, allusions to mental health struggles (depression and slight ptsd), slowwww burnnnn, protective!thunderbolts, this is part 2 - go read part 1

part 1

You were perched on one of the stools in the common area, scrolling idly through your phone, when the elevator chimed softly. Glancing up, you watched as two men stepped out, dressed casually—clearly comfortable here despite it being their first visit.

Bucky appeared almost instantly from the hallway, breaking into a rare, warm smile. “Sam.”

Sam grinned broadly, stepping forward to hug him briefly. “Good to see you, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, stepping back slightly. “Glad you could finally stop by.”

Sam looked around, impressed. “Place looks nice—bigger than I remember.”

Joaquín lingered nearby, smiling warmly at Bucky. “Hey, man. Been a while.”

“Joaquín,” Bucky greeted easily, shaking his hand. “Glad you came.”

Yelena and Ava stood near the kitchen, observing quietly. Alexei hovered curiously behind them, eyes bright with excitement. “Captain America!” Alexei boomed suddenly, making Sam turn in surprise. “It is honor to finally meet!”

Sam raised an amused eyebrow, shaking Alexei’s hand firmly. “Alexei, right?”

Alexei beamed proudly. “Correct! Red Guardian—at your service.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Relax, Alexei.”

Sam chuckled lightly, extending a hand toward Yelena. “Sam Wilson.”

She shook his hand briefly, expression guarded but polite. “Yelena Belova.”

Bucky turned slightly, catching sight of you lingering quietly by the counter. “Oh—Sam, Joaquín. This is Y/N. She lives here too.”

You stepped forward, offering a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you both.”

Sam shook your hand warmly. “Pleasure’s mine, Y/N.”

Joaquín smiled brightly, nodding. “Hey—nice to meet another normal person around here.”

You laughed softly. “Normal might be stretching it, but thanks.”

He chuckled, clearly at ease. “Trust me, compared to these guys, we're practically civilians.”

You smiled warmly. “Fair enough.”

John entered quietly, standing somewhat apart from the group, clearly hesitant. Sam’s gaze found him quickly, expression sobering slightly. “John.”

John gave a brief, cautious nod. “Sam.”

The tension was palpable. You glanced at Bucky, who was watching closely, clearly prepared to intervene if needed. Ava moved subtly nearer to John, arms crossed protectively. After a moment, Sam softened, offering John a small nod. “Good to see you doing better.”

John’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bucky exhaled quietly, visibly relieved. He glanced at Sam again. “Let me give you two a quick tour.”

Joaquín turned to you, gesturing casually around. “So, what's it like living here?”

You smiled easily. “Honestly? It’s chaos, but it grows on you.”

He laughed. “I can imagine. At least you got some good tech around here, right?”

You grinned. “Definitely. The engineering lab they set up is incredible. State-of-the-art everything.”

Joaquín’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? I'd love to see that.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “I can show you.”

“Great,” Joaquín said eagerly. “Lead the way.”

As you walked toward the hallway, Bucky’s eyes lingered briefly on your retreating figures. Sam noticed his friend’s slightly tightened expression, raising an amused eyebrow. “Buck?”

Bucky glanced quickly away, feigning indifference. “What?”

Sam smirked knowingly. “Nothing. Just observing.”

Bucky sighed, gesturing down the hall. “Let’s just start the damn tour.”

Sam chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he followed. “Whatever you say.”

---

You led Joaquín into the lab, flipping the lights on as you stepped inside. “Wow,” Joaquín breathed, clearly impressed. “This is nice.”

“It’s pretty amazing,” you agreed, moving to the nearest workstation. “Not that anyone else here uses it much, but it’s great for me.”

He examined a few tools thoughtfully, smiling. “So, you’re an engineer? That’s gotta come in handy around here.”

“More than you'd think,” you said with a laugh. “Last week I resurrected a toaster, and now I’m officially Alexei’s hero.”

He grinned broadly. “I can believe that. You know, before I got wrapped up in all this, I was working on aircraft maintenance. Engineering’s kinda my thing too.”

Your expression brightened. “No kidding? Civilian or military?”

“Military,” he replied, leaning comfortably against the counter. “Air Force. Spent a lot of time with jets and tech. Now it’s mostly wings and drones.”

“That’s impressive,” you admitted, genuinely intrigued. “I’ve never worked on anything airborne. Mostly household electronics and some experimental stuff here and there.”

Joaquín tilted his head curiously. “Experimental? Sounds intriguing.”

You laughed quietly. “Less glamorous than it sounds. Usually just prototypes that don’t get funded.”

He shrugged lightly. “Still impressive. Honestly, it’s just nice to meet someone who gets it. Most people’s eyes glaze over when I start talking about aviation.”

“Oh, trust me, I get that,” you said dryly. “One mention of circuit diagrams and half the team finds an excuse to run.”

Joaquín chuckled. “Exactly.”

The lab door opened quietly behind you, and you turned slightly to see Bucky standing there, expression neutral. “Hey,” he said evenly, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Showing off the lab?”

You nodded brightly. “Yeah, Joaquín’s an engineer too. Aircraft tech.”

Joaquín smiled warmly. “Yeah. But your setup here puts my workshop to shame.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Glad you like it.” A brief silence stretched slightly, Bucky’s gaze lingering thoughtfully between you both.

“Well,” Joaquín said easily, breaking the tension, “I should probably see where Sam wandered off to. Thanks for the tour, Y/N.”

“Anytime,” you said genuinely, smiling at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Joaquín said warmly, nodding politely at Bucky as he left.

Bucky lingered quietly near the door, eyes softening once you were alone. “You two get along well.”

You nodded, oblivious to his cautious tone. “Yeah, he's nice. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who understands tech.”

Bucky nodded slowly, stepping closer. “Right.”

You finally caught the subtle shift in his expression, raising your eyebrows curiously. “Something wrong?”

He hesitated, then sighed softly, shaking his head. “No. It’s nothing.”

“James,” you said gently, smiling softly, “you’re a terrible liar.”

His lips twitched faintly, reluctantly amused. “It’s just—I’m glad you’re comfortable here.”

“Of course I am,” you reassured quietly, gently touching his arm. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

He relaxed slightly under your touch, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah. Just didn’t expect to feel so... territorial.”

You laughed softly, eyes warm. “Territorial?”

He rolled his eyes, smiling sheepishly. “Forget it.”

“No way,” you teased lightly, nudging him gently. “You’re jealous.”

He scoffed quietly, though his eyes softened with quiet affection. “Maybe a little cautious.”

“Relax, James,” you murmured softly. “I promise I won’t abandon you for someone else who likes circuit diagrams.”

He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Thanks. Real reassuring.”

You laughed softly, leaning lightly against him. “Come on. Let’s go find the others before Alexei tries recruiting Sam into his toast cult.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, tension finally easing fully. “We should hurry, then. Sam’s terrible at saying no.”

You smiled warmly, gently guiding him out of the lab. “Lucky you’ve got me around, then.”

He glanced sideways at you, expression softening again. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

---

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, sketching some circuit diagrams on your tablet when the lights suddenly flickered, dimmed, and then went dark. A second later, the backup power kicked in with soft emergency lighting. "What the hell?" Bucky muttered from the kitchen, already setting down his glass.

You sighed, setting your tablet aside. "Probably a power surge again."

Before you could move, a muffled pounding echoed down the hall, followed by Alexei’s voice booming loudly through the walls. "We are trapped! Someone save us!"

You exchanged a quick glance with Bucky, both instantly recognizing the voice. Bucky groaned quietly. "The elevator."

You grabbed your phone, hurrying down the hall with Bucky close behind. Ava and Yelena were already standing outside the stalled elevator doors, both looking equally unimpressed. "You two okay in there?" Ava asked calmly, arms crossed.

John’s annoyed voice came through clearly. "We’re fine, just stuck. Alexei is—"

"I am perfectly calm!" Alexei interrupted frantically. "No panic. Red Guardian does not panic."

Yelena rolled her eyes, clearly amused. "Sure sounds like panic."

"You are hearing wrong," Alexei said stubbornly. "I am calm. But maybe hurry. Very calm, though."

John sighed deeply, clearly losing patience. "Just get us out, please."

Ava exchanged an amused glance with Yelena, smirking faintly. "Tempting to leave them in there, honestly. Might finally get some peace and quiet."

"Do not even joke!" Alexei shouted, banging the elevator doors again. "Yelena, let us out right now!"

Yelena raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "And if I don’t?"

Alexei paused, voice stern and overly dramatic. "Then you are grounded."

She sighed deeply, pressing her forehead into her hand. "I'm not a child, dad."

You laughed softly, glancing at Bucky. "I better fix this before Alexei actually has a meltdown."

"Please do," Bucky said dryly, shaking his head. "I don't wanna be the one explaining to Valentina why our elevator is destroyed from the inside."

You smiled softly, already moving toward the stairs. "I'll reset the panel manually. Give me five minutes."

"I'll go with you," Bucky offered instantly, falling into step beside you.

You didn’t protest, quietly appreciating the company as you both descended the stairwell to the maintenance panel in the basement. Once there, you quickly knelt in front of the box, pulling your small screwdriver from your back pocket and opening the casing.

Bucky watched quietly from just behind you, arms crossed comfortably. "You sure you got this?"

You smirked faintly, eyes still on the wiring. "Not my first rodeo, Barnes."

He chuckled softly, amusement coloring his voice. "Never doubted you, doll."

Your hands froze briefly at the unexpected nickname, warmth flooding your cheeks. You silently thanked the dim lighting for hiding your reaction as you quickly refocused, finishing the reset. A soft hum filled the room as the power returned fully, bright lights flickering on overhead. You stood slowly, brushing your hands off casually. "All fixed."

Bucky nodded, clearly impressed. "Nice work."

The two of you headed back up the stairs just in time to see Alexei practically tumble out of the now-functioning elevator, dramatically gasping for air. "Freedom!" Alexei declared loudly, embracing a very annoyed John, who quickly shrugged him off.

"Personal space, man," John muttered irritably, shaking his head and quickly escaping down the hall.

Alexei beamed at you, placing a grateful hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, you are savior. I owe you life debt."

You laughed gently, shaking your head. "No need for life debts. Just try not to break the elevator again."

"No promises," Ava said dryly, smirking faintly as she walked off, Yelena trailing after her with an amused expression.

Alexei sighed dramatically, clearly offended. "One small elevator issue, and suddenly everyone is critic."

Bucky smiled faintly, glancing sideways at you as the others dispersed. "Thanks again, doll."

You flushed slightly once more, ducking your head a little, but managed a soft smile. "Anytime." If Bucky noticed your reaction, he didn’t show it, simply lingering quietly beside you as the hallway slowly emptied, leaving you both comfortably alone.

---

You hadn’t meant to overhear Ava and Yelena’s conversation, but while going to the kitchen at midnight for water, you heard them talking by the windows.

“I don’t know,” Ava sighed softly. “I guess I just haven’t celebrated since…you know.”

“Since your dad died?” Yelena offered quietly.

“Yeah,” Ava said quietly. “After everything happened with my powers, SHIELD never exactly prioritized cake and candles.”

You paused in the doorway, your chest tightening slightly. Silently, you stepped back down the hall, deciding your thirst could wait.

---

“So why exactly did you have me dig up old SHIELD records?” Jessica asked dryly over the phone.

“Because I knew you could,” you replied cheerfully, mixing the cake batter. “And because you secretly love being helpful.”

“I secretly love getting paid,” Jessica retorted. “But you’re lucky I like you.”

You smiled softly, holding the phone to your shoulder. “Thanks, Jess. Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jessica sighed. “You better save me a slice.”

“Promise,” you laughed. “Bye, Jess.”

As you hung up and set the phone aside, Bob quietly entered the kitchen. He looked distracted, eyes a bit distant. “Hey, Bob,” you said warmly. “Want to help?”

Bob blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “Oh—sure. What are we making?”

“Chocolate blood-orange cake for Ava’s birthday,” you replied, pushing a bowl toward him. “Can you brown the butter?”

“Uh,” Bob hesitated slightly, staring at the bowl. “I’ve never done that before.”

“It’s easy,” you reassured gently, smiling. “Just melt it slow and stir it till it gets golden. Think you can handle that?”

Bob nodded slowly, picking up the bowl and heading to the stove. “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you worked quietly side by side for a few moments before you glanced at him carefully. “Everything okay, Bob?”

He hesitated before speaking softly. “You know, I’ve actually never celebrated a birthday before, either.”

Your hands stilled briefly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Never really had the chance, I guess.”

Your heart squeezed gently at his quiet confession. You casually continued mixing batter, speaking lightly. “Well, what kind of cake would you want, if you ever did celebrate?”

Bob’s face brightened slightly, thoughtful. “I’ve always wanted to try carrot cake. It sounds weird, putting vegetables in dessert.”

You laughed gently, warmth filling your chest. “Carrot cake’s amazing. Maybe we can make one sometime.”

Bob glanced up shyly, smiling softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You nodded gently, smiling back at him. “Deal.”

---

A couple of hours later, the cake was finished and sitting on the counter. You were carefully arranging a few candles when Yelena wandered into the kitchen. “What’s this?” she asked curiously, eyeing the cake.

“It’s for Ava,” you explained softly, voice quiet. “Her birthday is today.”

Yelena blinked, clearly startled. “How did you know that?”

“I overheard,” you admitted sheepishly. “And I… might’ve got a friend to confirm.”

Yelena stared for a moment, expression softening slowly. “She’s gonna love this.”

“I hope so,” you murmured quietly.

Just then, Bucky stepped in, pausing briefly to glance between you both. “Something going on?”

“It’s Ava’s birthday,” Yelena supplied helpfully. “Y/N made a cake.”

Bucky’s expression softened noticeably, eyes lingering warmly on you. “That was thoughtful.”

You smiled softly, warmth spreading through you at his quiet praise. “She deserves it.”

John appeared in the doorway, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Did I hear someone mention cake?”

Yelena smirked lightly. “You always hear cake.”

Alexei lumbered loudly into the room behind John. “Cake? What is occasion?”

“It’s Ava’s birthday,” you explained again, smiling at Alexei’s immediate enthusiasm.

“Birthday!” Alexei declared dramatically. “Where is Ava? We must sing!”

“No,” Ava said immediately, standing in the doorway with a startled look. “Absolutely no singing.”

Alexei deflated slightly, looking crestfallen. “But it’s tradition.”

“No singing,” Ava repeated firmly, though a faint smile tugged at her lips as she saw the cake. “Did you make this?”

You smiled gently, nodding. “Chocolate blood-orange. Hope you like it.”

Ava stared for a quiet moment, clearly touched. “I—I haven’t had a birthday cake since… well, ever, really.”

“Then it’s overdue,” Bucky murmured softly, giving her a warm nod.

Bob stepped forward shyly, offering Ava a plate and fork. “Happy birthday, Ava.”

She smiled softly, accepting the plate gently. “Thanks, Bob.”

“Alright,” John interrupted gruffly. “Enough feelings, let’s eat cake.”

Yelena smirked dryly, cutting slices quickly. “Patience was never your strength, Walker.”

You handed Bucky a piece, your fingers brushing his briefly. His gaze softened noticeably as he smiled gently down at you. “You’re amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured softly.

Your cheeks warmed, but you smiled brightly back. “Thanks, James.”

Alexei suddenly raised his slice high. “To Ava, may her powers never explode building!” Everyone paused, staring blankly. “What?” Alexei frowned defensively. “Is sincere wish.”

Ava laughed quietly, shaking her head. “I’ll take it.”

You smiled warmly, quietly stepping closer to Bucky, who casually leaned into your side. Your eyes met briefly, sharing a quiet, gentle understanding. As laughter and conversation filled the kitchen, Ava caught your eye from across the room, her smile softly grateful. You simply nodded gently in return.

---

You sat quietly on the sidelines, legs crossed comfortably beneath you as you carefully adjusted the wiring inside the small drone you'd been tinkering with all morning. Your fingers moved methodically, gently tightening screws and reconnecting circuits, oblivious to the occasional shouts and scuffles from the team's sparring session across the gym.

Yelena swiftly dodged a strike from Ava, spinning gracefully out of reach. "You're getting sloppy, Ghost."

Ava smirked beneath her breath, phasing out briefly to appear suddenly behind Yelena. "Says you."

John leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing closely. "They're holding back."

Alexei chuckled heartily, stretching loudly beside him. "Is good practice. Builds character."

"You say that about everything," John muttered dryly.

Bob hovered uncertainly nearby, clearly hesitant to jump into the sparring circle. Bucky, quietly observing the team from the opposite side of the gym, caught his eye and nodded reassuringly. "You’ve got this, Bob. Just take it slow."

Bob nodded gratefully, stepping in to face Ava, who quickly softened her stance slightly, giving him a friendly, encouraging nod. You glanced up briefly, smiling at the subtle support within the group. It was comforting—watching them grow closer, slowly learning to trust and rely on one another.

Turning your attention back to the drone, you didn't notice at first when Ava swept Bob off balance, sending him stumbling toward the sidelines—directly toward you. "Watch it!" John shouted sharply.

You looked up just in time to see Bob's startled face as he tried desperately to regain his footing. Quickly, you scooted backward, narrowly avoiding collision. He crashed onto the mat in front of you, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," Bob stammered quickly, scrambling upright. "You okay?"

You gave him a reassuring smile. "No worries—didn't even touch me."

Bucky was already beside you, concern clear in his eyes. "You okay, doll?"

Your breath caught briefly at the nickname, cheeks warming slightly despite your best effort to remain calm. You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Bucky studied your face closely, clearly making sure you meant it, before offering Bob a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Let's maybe keep the collisions to a minimum?"

Bob chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, definitely."

As the team resumed training, Bucky lingered a moment longer beside you, casually glancing down at the drone still in your hands. "How's it coming along?"

You relaxed visibly, appreciating the return to safer ground. "Almost fixed. Just some minor tweaks left."

He nodded approvingly. "Nice work."

You smiled softly, glancing up to meet his gentle eyes. "Thanks, James."

Bucky held your gaze for a quiet moment, lips curving slightly. "Always, doll." As he stepped back toward the sparring mats, your heartbeat slowly returned to normal. You quietly resumed your repairs, fingers steadier now despite the lingering warmth in your chest.

---

The street fair was bustling, music drifting lazily through the air mixed with the hum of excited voices. Alexei led the charge, loudly exclaiming his amazement at every food stand and carnival game they passed. “You see this?” Alexei shouted gleefully, pointing to a funnel cake stall. “They fry cake here!”

“Yes, Alexei,” Yelena replied dryly, glancing at you with mild exasperation. “It’s a fair. They fry everything.”

You laughed softly, bumping her shoulder gently. “He’s just having fun.”

John grimaced, “I’m not eating that shit.”

Alexei gasped, in something similar to betrayal. "Walker! Fried cake is delicacy!"

"It's just batter and oil," John muttered. "No thanks."

Bob eyed the funnel cake curiously. "I wanna try some."

Alexei immediately brightened again, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "Bob understands culture."

Ava glanced at Yelena. "How many sugar crashes do you think we'll have to deal with later?"

Yelena sighed dramatically. "Too many."

You laughed quietly, bumping lightly into Bucky’s shoulder as you walked. "Enjoying yourself, James?"

He smiled faintly, hands tucked into his pockets. "Honestly? Yeah. Reminds me a bit of Coney Island in the 40s."

"That where you and Steve went?" you asked gently, eyes softening as you glanced at him.

He nodded, a nostalgic grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Steve was always trying to win prizes—never succeeded, though. Skinny punk couldn't hit a target to save his life."

You chuckled softly, nudging him again. "And you?"

He gave a modest shrug, eyes sparkling faintly. "I might've won a few times."

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow teasingly. "You planning to show off those sharpshooter skills tonight?"

He smirked playfully. "Maybe."

Just then, Alexei pointed dramatically toward a colorful booth filled with stuffed animals. "Look, they have shooting games! Barnes, test your skills!"

Yelena rolled her eyes. "Alexei, it's rigged."

"Nonsense," Alexei declared confidently. "Barnes is assassin! He cannot miss."

Bucky sighed lightly, glancing sideways at you. "Looks like I don't have a choice now."

You laughed softly, gently nudging him forward. "Go on, then."

He stepped up to the booth, taking the air rifle the attendant handed him and aiming casually at the small targets.

Alexei crowded close, practically vibrating with excitement. "Shoot the little ducks, Barnes!"

"Thanks for the tip," Bucky muttered dryly. You watched quietly, smiling softly as Bucky effortlessly hit each target. Alexei cheered loudly, clapping him roughly on the back.

"Impressive!" Alexei exclaimed proudly. "Pick prize!"

Bucky turned, eyes catching yours as he pointed casually to a small stuffed bear. "That one." The attendant handed it over, and Bucky held it out toward you, lips twitching slightly. "Here you go, doll."

You felt your cheeks warm faintly as you accepted the bear, trying to ignore your quickening pulse. "Thanks, James."

He shrugged lightly, smiling softly at you. "Anytime."

Yelena raised an eyebrow knowingly, catching Ava’s amused glance. "Interesting," Ava murmured quietly, smirking slightly.

"Very," Yelena agreed dryly.

John rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You two gonna stand there all night?"

You laughed softly, stepping closer beside Bucky. "Guess we better catch up."

Bucky smiled faintly, gently guiding you forward with a hand lightly placed at your lower back. "Wouldn't want them to leave us behind."

"No," you murmured playfully, hugging the bear gently. "Definitely not."

---

Once awake, you slowly sat up in bed, before putting your feet down on the floor. “Shit!” You yelped, your socked feet now soaking wet. You furrowed your brows, squinting at the floor in curiosity. You tapped your foot against the floor as water splashed. “Oh no,” you muttered, immediately scrambling upright. Quickly moving out into the hall, you found the rest of the team already emerging from their rooms, similarly confused and irritated.

"What the hell happened?" John groaned, glaring down at the inch of water covering the entire floor.

“Did someone leave bathtub running?” Alexei demanded loudly. “Was it you, Walker?”

John scowled, clearly offended. "No, Alexei, I didn’t flood the damn tower."

Yelena sighed dramatically, glancing around the drenched hallway. "Great start to the day."

"Looks like a pipe burst," you assessed quickly, already looking around. "We need to shut off the main valve."

Bob glanced at you uncertainly. "Do you know how?"

"Yeah," you replied, nodding firmly. "I just need to reach the access panel up there." You pointed upward to a panel high above your heads, near the ceiling.

"Do we have a ladder?" Ava asked calmly.

"No," Bucky said, frowning slightly. "Why would we have a ladder?"

"Everyone should have a ladder," you said matter-of-factly, mildly frustrated. "Emergencies happen, James."

Bucky shook his head, clearly suppressing a smile at your indignation. "Noted."

"Alright," you sighed heavily, glancing around the group. "Someone has to lift me."

Alexei immediately stepped forward, grinning broadly. "I will lift Y/N—very strong shoulders!"

"Yeah, and you're also a walking earthquake," Yelena said flatly. "You'll drop her."

Alexei deflated slightly. "Unfair accusation."

Bucky sighed softly, stepping closer to you. "I'll lift you."

You glanced at him, biting your lip. "You sure?"

He raised an eyebrow lightly. "I think I can handle it, doll."

Your cheeks warmed slightly at the casual nickname, but you quickly nodded. "Okay. Just, um… stand still."

He chuckled lightly, kneeling down so you could carefully climb onto his shoulders. "Hold on tight," he murmured, gently gripping your thighs to steady you as he stood up smoothly. Your pulse quickened as you balanced carefully on his shoulders, gripping the panel above your head. "You good?" Bucky asked, glancing upward.

"Yep," you said quickly, clearing your throat. "Just keep steady."

"Don't worry," he reassured quietly. "Not gonna drop you."

"Better not," you muttered teasingly, focusing your attention on the panel as you carefully pried it open.

"How long will this take?" John called impatiently from the doorway.

"Not long," you replied firmly, carefully reaching inside. "Just need a minute."

You paused briefly, glancing down at Bucky beneath you. "Can you shift just a little to the left?"

He moved slightly, carefully holding you steady. "Better?"

"Yeah," you murmured softly, fingers quickly adjusting the valve. "Almost got it." After a moment, you heard the quiet hiss as water flow finally stopped. "Done!"

Bucky carefully knelt down again, letting you gently climb off his shoulders. "Nice work," he said quietly, lips tugging into a faint smile.

You laughed lightly, smoothing your clothes. "Team effort."

Bob glanced around the still-flooded hallway. "So, what now?"

Ava sighed softly, crossing her arms. "Now we mop."

Alexei groaned dramatically, shaking his head. "I am not made for mopping."

"Too bad," Yelena said dryly, handing him a mop she'd retrieved from the closet. "Everyone cleans."

You glanced at Bucky, smiling softly. "Thanks for the lift."

"Anytime, sweetheart," he replied casually, already grabbing towels to help clean.

Your heart skipped slightly at the nickname, but you quickly turned away to hide your warm cheeks. "Let’s go," you called firmly, grabbing a mop. "The sooner we clean, the sooner we dry off."

Alexei grumbled quietly under his breath, reluctantly accepting his fate. "Life was simpler in Russia. Less mopping."

John rolled his eyes, already working. "Cry me a river."

"Ha!" Alexei pointed triumphantly. "Good joke."

You shook your head lightly, glancing over your shoulder to see Bucky already watching you quietly, his lips curved into a small, private smile. You smiled back gently before quickly focusing again on the task at hand, ignoring the lingering warmth in your cheeks.

---

You adjusted the front of your outfit, smoothing down your clothes as you stepped into the living room. Yelena glanced up from her phone, arching an eyebrow. "You look nice," she commented mildly. "Special occasion?"

"Um," you hesitated, fiddling with the strap of your bag. "Something like that."

Bucky walked into the room, eyes immediately landing on you and widening just a bit before he masked his reaction. "Hey," he said softly, stepping closer. "Going somewhere?"

"Oh, yeah," you said quickly, heart speeding up slightly under his careful gaze. "I—uh, I've got a date."

Bucky's expression shifted slightly, becoming harder to read. "A date?"

"No—wait," you said quickly, eyes widening as you realized your slip-up. "No, not a date date—it's Jessica. I'm going out with Jessica."

Yelena raised her eyebrows further, clearly entertained. "Jessica, your friend the private investigator?"

"Yeah," you sighed, already feeling your cheeks burn. "Just a friend. Totally just friends. I mean, my friend Jessica. She helped me find out when Ava's birthday was, so I promised I'd take her out somewhere nice."

Bucky tilted his head, clearly still processing. "Right, so... not a date."

You shook your head emphatically. "Nope. Just dinner with Jessica—as a thank you. Completely platonic."

"Sounds fun," Yelena said dryly, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You shot her a quick glare before turning back to Bucky. "She wanted a fancy restaurant, so I just—got a little dressed up."

"You look good," Bucky murmured softly, lips quirking slightly. "She'll appreciate it."

"Right," you said weakly, smoothing down your clothes again. "Anyway, I should probably go."

Bucky nodded, stepping back slightly. "Have a good time, doll."

Your heart skipped slightly at the nickname, and you offered him a small smile. "Thanks, James."

As soon as you were out of the room, Yelena glanced pointedly at Bucky, eyebrows raised. "What?" Bucky muttered, moving toward the kitchen.

"Nothing," Yelena replied lightly, lips twitching into a smirk. "Just enjoying the show."

Bucky shot her a glare. "There's no show."

"If you say so," Yelena hummed, clearly unconvinced.

Bucky sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Mind your business, Yelena."

She shrugged casually, returning to her phone. "Whatever you say, Barnes."

---

Jessica was already at the table when you got there, in her normal leather jacket, jeans, and combat boots. You raised an eyebrow as you sat down. “I’m shocked they even let you in.”

Jessica shrugged carelessly. "I told them my date was fancy enough for both of us."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the menu. "Charming. You know, you could've at least pretended to try."

"Not really my style," Jessica muttered, flipping casually through the menu. She frowned, scanning the pages. "Where the hell are the burgers?"

You glanced up, blinking. "Jess, did you even read the menu before you made me book this place?"

"I skimmed it," she said defensively, eyes narrowing at the fancy script. "They seriously don't have burgers?"

The waiter approached, smiling politely. "Have we decided, ladies?"

"Yeah," Jessica said flatly, slapping her menu shut. "I'll take a burger. Medium rare. Fries too."

The waiter stared blankly at her. You smiled apologetically. "Sorry—she hasn't read the menu. Could you give us another minute?" He nodded politely, retreating.

Jessica scowled. "Why don't they have burgers? What kind of restaurant is this?"

"The kind where people don't wear combat boots," you teased lightly. "Why exactly did you pick this place?"

Jessica ignored your question, her eyes suddenly narrowing as she spotted someone over your shoulder. "Shit. Hold that thought. I gotta take care of something."

"Jess?" You raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What's going on?"

She stood quickly, eyes locked across the restaurant. "You think I actually wanted a fancy dinner date? I'm working."

You groaned, laughing softly. "Of course you are. I should've known better."

"Stay put," Jessica said firmly. "I'll be right back."

You leaned back, sighing dramatically as she walked off. "Yeah, sure. I'll just sit here alone like a weirdo."

---

Jessica returned after fifteen minutes, sliding casually back into her chair. "All good?" you asked dryly, sipping your drink.

"Yeah, got what I needed," she replied, grinning faintly. "Turns out fancy restaurants attract fancy assholes."

"You couldn't have warned me?" You sighed, setting your glass down. "We could've just grabbed pizza."

Jessica shrugged lightly. "Figured you deserved something classy. But now I'm bored. Let’s go to a bar."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're hopeless."

Jessica smirked, standing quickly. "Come on, princess. Time to slum it with the peasants."

You rolled your eyes affectionately, grabbing your purse. "You're lucky I love you."

Jessica snorted, guiding you toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah."

---

The bar Jessica chose was predictably dim, loud, and comfortably familiar. She gestured toward a booth in the back, already heading to the counter. "Sit. I'll get us drinks."

You slid into the booth, sighing in relief as you sank into the worn leather. A few minutes later, Jessica slid two beers onto the table, dropping heavily onto the seat opposite you.

"Cheers," she said dryly, lifting her glass. "To your terrible taste in men."

You scoffed, clicking your glass against hers. "Shut up."

Jessica smirked knowingly. "Seriously though, how's living with America's favorite metal-armed politician?"

"James isn't a politician anymore," you muttered, avoiding her eyes. "And it's... fine."

Jessica snorted, taking a swig of her beer. "Fine? That's it?"

You shrugged, picking at the label of your bottle. "What do you want me to say? It's not like anything's happening."

"Uh-huh," Jessica said flatly, giving you a knowing look. "You're a shitty liar, you know that, right?"

"I am not," you protested weakly. "Seriously, Jess, nothing's going on."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, because moving in with your hot, former congressman neighbor and living with the Avengers is totally normal."

You groaned softly. "It's just temporary."

Jessica raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Temporary, like how you told me letting me crash on your couch was temporary?"

"That was different," you said defensively, pointing your beer bottle at her. "You were a very stubborn squatter."

Jessica smirked, unbothered. "Yeah, but Barnes is probably way easier to live with."

"He's..." You hesitated, sipping your beer again. "He's actually really nice."

"Nice?" Jessica repeated skeptically. "We're calling the Winter Soldier nice now?"

"Jessica," you warned softly. "Don't start."

She shrugged, leaning back casually. "Just seems interesting, that's all. Pretty convenient he just happened to have room in a fucking skyscraper for you."

"It's a tower," you corrected mildly. "And it was just luck. Fisk bought our building."

"Right," Jessica drawled, watching you closely. "So, it's totally innocent."

"Yes," you insisted firmly. "Completely innocent."

Jessica stared at you a long moment, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You're blushing."

"I am not," you protested weakly, pressing your cool hands against your heated cheeks. "It's just warm in here."

"Uh-huh," Jessica said dryly, taking another long drink. "Just don't come crying to me when your heart gets stomped."

"You're so encouraging," you muttered sarcastically.

"It's what I'm here for," Jessica retorted lightly, finishing her beer. She glanced at your half-empty bottle. "You good?"

You sighed, leaning your chin on your hand. "Yeah, fine."

Jessica chuckled quietly, flagging down a waitress. "Two more."

---

After three beers, your cheeks were flushed and your voice was noticeably louder. Jessica, still perfectly sober, watched you carefully with a mildly amused expression.

"And you know what else?" you said, jabbing your finger at the table dramatically. "He calls me doll, Jess. Doll! Who even does that?"

Jessica raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Barnes does, apparently."

"And sweetheart," you continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "He calls me sweetheart, too. And you know what I do?"

"What?" Jessica asked patiently, lips twitching.

"Nothing!" you exclaimed, slumping back in your seat dramatically. "I just stand there like an idiot. Every. Single. Time."

Jessica snorted softly. "Sounds like you got it bad."

You sighed heavily, resting your head on your folded arms. "I'm doomed, Jess. Totally doomed."

"Relax, drama queen," Jessica said dryly. "You could always just tell him."

You lifted your head, staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "Tell him? Are you insane?"

Jessica shrugged lightly. "Maybe. But at least you'd know."

"And risk everything?" you groaned dramatically, burying your face again. "No way. I'd rather suffer in silence."

"Clearly," Jessica muttered, signaling for the waitress again. "Maybe lay off the beer, though. You're spilling your guts more than usual."

You waved her off dismissively. "I'm fine. I'm great."

"You're wasted," Jessica corrected bluntly.

"No," you argued stubbornly, pushing yourself upright. "I'm just—relaxed."

Jessica snorted, shaking her head. "Whatever you say."

"I just don't get it," you mumbled, tracing circles on the table. "He's so sweet and caring, and he has no right looking that good all the time."

Jessica sighed deeply. "Jesus Christ."

"And his eyes," you continued dreamily. "Did I tell you about his eyes?"

"Multiple times," Jessica muttered dryly. "Blue and soulful, got it."

"Exactly," you said emphatically, pointing at her again. "So unfair."

Jessica rolled her eyes affectionately. "Maybe next time I'll just leave you at home."

"You wouldn't dare," you gasped dramatically.

"Watch me," Jessica said flatly. "But seriously—you're pathetic."

"I know," you groaned softly. "But he's so perfect."

Jessica raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I highly doubt that."

"Well, he's perfect for me," you corrected, smiling faintly. "He fixes stuff, Jess. Like, actual household things. And he carried all my boxes. And—and he makes sure I eat when I'm working. Do you have any idea how sweet that is?"

Jessica's expression softened just slightly. "Yeah. Sounds like he's decent."

"More than decent," you mumbled sleepily. "He's James."

Jessica sighed quietly, nudging you gently. "Okay, princess. Time to go."

"No," you protested weakly. "I'm comfy."

"You're gonna regret this tomorrow," Jessica muttered, carefully pulling you to your feet.

You stumbled slightly, clutching onto her jacket. "Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"You're my best friend," you murmured softly. "You know that, right?"

Jessica rolled her eyes affectionately, guiding you toward the door. "Yeah, I know. Love you too, dumbass."

You sighed contentedly, leaning heavily on her shoulder. "Good."

---

When you finally reached the tower, Jessica practically dragged you into the elevator. You leaned heavily against the wall, eyes half-closed. Jessica took your phone, quickly texting Bucky before pocketing it again. You hummed sleepily, eyes fluttering shut. "You okay there, lightweight?" Jessica teased lightly.

"M'fine," you mumbled, yawning. "Just tired."

"Clearly," Jessica muttered dryly.

The elevator doors opened, revealing Bucky waiting quietly in the lobby. His eyes softened immediately as he took in your sleepy form. "You alright, doll?" he asked softly, stepping forward.

You smiled lazily, eyes half-open. "Hi, James."

"Hey," he replied gently, lips tugging into a small smile. He glanced at Jessica. "Is she okay?"

Jessica nodded casually. "Yeah, she’s fine. Just drunk."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "How drunk?"

Jessica shrugged lightly. "Phase three."

Bucky looked at her, mildly confused. "Phase three?"

"She has phases," Jessica explained dryly. "Phase one—chatty, talks way too much about things no one asked about. Phase two—lovey, tells you how amazing you are, how much she loves and appreciates you. Phase three—sleepy." Jessica glanced back at you pointedly. "You're lucky; phase two was over before we got here."

You hummed softly, blinking slowly. "Love you, Jess."

Jessica sighed affectionately, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too, dumbass."

Bucky smiled faintly, clearly amused. "Thanks for getting her home safe."

Jessica shrugged lightly. "No big deal. But she's your problem now."

You leaned against Bucky’s side, head resting against his shoulder sleepily. "James?"

"Yeah, doll?" he murmured softly.

"I'm really tired," you mumbled into his sleeve.

He chuckled quietly, carefully wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steady you. "Let's get you upstairs."

Jessica watched quietly, raising an eyebrow as the elevator doors closed. "Take care of her, Barnes."

Bucky glanced at her, nodding sincerely. "Always."

The elevator ride was quiet, your breathing even and slow. When the doors opened, Bucky gently guided you down the hall to your room. "Need help getting undressed?" he asked quietly, opening your door.

You stumbled lightly into the room, making your way clumsily toward your bed. Without hesitation, you fell face-first onto the mattress, sighing dramatically. "Fuck the dress," you muttered, voice muffled by your pillow.

Bucky laughed softly, moving to carefully pull your shoes off and set them aside. He grabbed a blanket, gently laying it over you. "Night, sweetheart," he whispered softly.

You hummed quietly, already drifting. "G’night, James." He paused briefly at your door, watching quietly for a moment before turning off the lights and gently closing it behind him.

---

You sat at the kitchen island the next morning, your hoodie pulled over your head as you sat hunched over.

Bucky walked in, pausing briefly to take in your slumped figure. He suppressed a smile. "Mornin’, doll. How you feeling?"

"Like shit," you muttered, forehead pressed firmly against your palm. "I used to handle way more than three beers in college. Apparently, having a real job ruined me."

Bucky chuckled softly, gently placing a glass of water and two ibuprofen tablets in front of you. "Drink this. It'll help."

"Thanks, James," you sighed weakly, downing the pills with a grimace. "I'm pathetic."

"Only a little," Yelena chimed in dryly, entering the kitchen and pouring herself coffee. "But we still love you."

"Thanks, Lena," you mumbled sarcastically. "Very comforting."

Alexei suddenly burst into the room, slamming a giant pickle jar onto the counter in front of you, making you flinch at the sound. "Here, Y/N!" Alexei declared proudly. "Drink pickle juice! Is best Russian remedy for hangover."

You stared blankly at the massive jar. "Uh—thanks, Alexei, but I think I'll pass."

"Drink," Alexei insisted, unscrewing the lid and pushing it closer. "Will fix headache immediately."

Yelena raised an eyebrow skeptically. "That’s disgusting."

"Is not disgusting," Alexei protested indignantly. "Is traditional Russian medicine."

"You also told us vodka was traditional medicine," Yelena pointed out, sipping her coffee. "Not everything Russian is healthy."

Bucky watched the exchange with mild amusement. "He's not wrong, though. Pickle juice does help."

You shot him a skeptical look. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm neutral," Bucky replied, smiling softly. "Just stating facts."

Alexei nudged the jar toward you again. "Drink, Y/N. You feel better."

You grimaced, gently pushing it away. "Really appreciate it, Alexei, but I’ll stick to water."

Alexei sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Americans. No respect for tradition."

Yelena smirked lightly. "At least we have taste buds."

Alexei scoffed dramatically, lifting the jar and taking a large gulp of pickle juice himself, then smacked his lips loudly. "Delicious."

You groaned softly, leaning your head against your folded arms. "That's it, I'm going back to bed."

Bucky gently squeezed your shoulder, voice warm and quiet. "Good call, doll. Get some rest."

Your heart fluttered softly, but you nodded slowly, pulling your hoodie tighter. "Thanks, James."

"Anytime," he murmured softly as you shuffled out, carefully avoiding Alexei’s pickle jar.

---

There were no records of Bob’s birthday anywhere—you even had Jessica check. So, you decided that any day was better than nothing and started making a carrot cake. You stood in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder at the recipe on your tablet. Muttering softly to yourself, you scanned the ingredients.

"Okay... flour, sugar, carrots..." you paused, frowning. "Nutmeg. Where’s the nutmeg?" You opened several cabinets, groaning softly when you saw the tiny jar on the top shelf, clearly out of your reach. "Really?" you muttered, standing on your tiptoes. You reached upward, stretching as far as you could, your shirt riding up slightly as you leaned.

Before you could climb onto the counter, a firm, gentle hand landed lightly on your hip, steadying you. Your breath caught slightly, heart skipping. "Careful, doll," Bucky murmured softly behind you. "Let me get it."

You slowly lowered back onto your heels, pulse racing as his warmth lingered at your side. "Thanks, James."

He reached easily over your head, grabbing the spice jar. As he moved to hand it to you, his gaze caught briefly on your exposed side, brows furrowing slightly as he noticed the faint, jagged scar. He went quiet, eyes serious. "What's that from?"

Your heart skipped again, this time anxiously. You quickly pulled your shirt down, cheeks warming slightly. "Oh, just an old scar. No big deal."

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly, concern deepening. "Doesn't look like 'no big deal.' What happened?"

You hesitated, setting the jar down carefully on the counter. "It's... complicated."

He stepped closer, voice gentle and low. "I’ve got time."

You sighed softly, avoiding his eyes as you stirred the batter slowly. "A few years ago, Jessica had a sister. Trish. She wasn't... well."

Bucky watched you carefully, staying silent to let you continue.

"One night, Trish snapped," you murmured softly. "She thought she was doing something good, but she attacked me. She stabbed me."

Bucky stilled completely, tension radiating softly from him. "Jesus."

You shrugged weakly, eyes still down. "Jess stopped her before it got worse. Trish is locked up now, but the scar... it stuck around."

He exhaled slowly, clearly processing. After a quiet moment, he carefully rested his hand on your shoulder, gently turning you toward him.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice rough with concern.

You nodded, forcing a faint smile. "It was years ago. I’m okay, James. Really."

He studied your face carefully, thumb brushing gently along your shoulder. "You ever want to talk about it more, I'm here."

Your heart warmed softly, and you gently touched his hand, squeezing lightly. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

He nodded slowly, pulling his hand back but staying close. "You know," he murmured lightly, smiling faintly, "you don't have to keep everything bottled up."

You chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Says you."

He smirked, shaking his head. "Fair point. Still applies to you."

You smiled softly, sighing quietly. "Maybe someday."

He nodded gently, expression softening again. "I'll wait."

Your chest tightened gently, warmth spreading through you. "Thanks, James."

"Anytime, doll," he murmured quietly, stepping back slowly. "Need help finishing this cake?"

You relaxed visibly, grateful for the shift in topic. "Absolutely. Can you grate carrots without losing fingers?"

He chuckled quietly, already moving toward the carrots. "Think I'll manage." You smiled softly, the quiet comfort of his presence easing the tension still lingering inside you.

---

A couple of hours later, you placed the freshly frosted carrot cake on the kitchen counter, carefully arranging a small group of candles on top. You stepped back, examining your handiwork.

"Looks great," Bucky said gently from behind you, smiling warmly. "Bob’s gonna love it."

You smiled softly, nudging his side lightly with your elbow. "Couldn't have done it without you, James."

Alexei barreled into the kitchen, eyes immediately lighting up at the sight. "Cake is ready! Time for birthday celebration!"

"Is it really his birthday?" John asked skeptically, leaning against the fridge.

"No records," you admitted with a shrug. "So today seemed as good as any."

Ava raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Works for me."

Yelena carefully placed paper plates on the counter, glancing at the cake appreciatively. "Nice work, Y/N."

"Thanks, Yelena," you replied warmly.

Bob stepped hesitantly into the kitchen, eyes widening when he saw the cake and candles. "What's all this?"

Alexei threw an enthusiastic arm around Bob’s shoulders, pulling him forward. "Happy Birthday, Bob! Today, you become man!"

Bob chuckled nervously, blushing faintly. "But—it’s not really my birthday."

"We know," Ava said calmly, offering a small smile. "But it doesn't matter. We're celebrating anyway."

Bob’s expression softened, clearly touched. "Wow. I've never had a birthday party before."

"Well," you said gently, lighting the candles carefully. "You do now."

Bob swallowed, smiling shyly. "Thank you."

Bucky stepped forward, gently clapping Bob on the back. "Alright, make a wish."

Bob hesitated briefly, glancing around at the team gathered around him—faces soft and supportive. Finally, he leaned in, blowing out the candles quickly. Everyone broke into cheers��Alexei loudest of all, clapping enthusiastically.

"What did you wish for?" Alexei demanded brightly.

Bob laughed softly, shaking his head. "Can’t tell you, Alexei. Then it won't come true."

Alexei frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Superstition."

Yelena sighed dryly. "Leave him alone."

You sliced the cake carefully, handing Bob the first piece. "Here you go. Hope you like it."

Bob took a bite, eyes immediately lighting up. "This is amazing, Y/N."

You smiled, relieved. "Good."

Bucky took a bite, nodding appreciatively. "She makes a mean cake."

You nudged him lightly. "You helped."

He chuckled softly, eyes warm. "Barely."

"Still counts," you insisted gently, taking your own slice.

Alexei eagerly shoved half the piece of cake into his mouth at once, crumbs dropping onto the counter. "Delicious! Y/N, you are baking genius!"

"Slow down," John muttered, eyeing Alexei warily. "You're making a mess."

Alexei waved dismissively. "Birthday celebrations demand mess."

You laughed softly, glancing around at the group—relaxed, smiling, sharing cake. Quietly, your heart warmed. After finishing his slice, Bob smiled shyly, clearing his throat softly. "Thanks, everyone. I mean it. This was really nice."

"You're welcome," you replied warmly, gently touching his arm. "You deserve it, Bob."

He flushed faintly, clearly touched. "Thanks, Y/N."

As everyone chatted, slowly drifting toward the living room, Bucky lingered by your side, quietly gathering the dirty dishes.

"You did a good thing," he murmured softly, voice gentle.

You smiled softly, heart fluttering at his praise. "Bob deserves good things."

Bucky's eyes softened further, meeting yours quietly. "So do you, doll."

You glanced down, cheeks warming slightly. "Thanks, James."

"Anytime," he said gently, brushing your arm lightly with his metal fingers as he moved past. "Come on—let's join the others before Alexei breaks into birthday karaoke."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "God forbid." Bucky chuckled quietly, staying close beside you as you walked toward the living room, warmth settling softly in your chest.

---

Bucky stood quietly by the large windows in the tower's common area, eyes fixed on the city skyline. Sam leaned casually against the nearby wall, arms crossed as he watched him carefully. "You know this whole 'New Avengers' thing is messed up, right?" Sam finally said, breaking the silence.

Bucky sighed heavily, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Trust me, I'm not comfortable with it either."

Sam shifted slightly, eyes narrowed. "So why go along with it? Valentina can't control everything."

Bucky shook his head, his gaze hardening. "Right now, Sam, she pretty much can. Believe me, if I saw another way out, I'd take it."

Sam sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Still doesn't sit right with me, man."

Bucky turned to face him, expression weary. "Doesn't sit right with me either. But the minute there's an opening, we'll figure something out."

"Better be soon," Sam warned softly, raising an eyebrow. "Because you know she won't stop at this."

"I know," Bucky muttered. "I know."

Before either of them could speak again, you passed quietly through the room, glancing briefly in their direction. Bucky’s posture immediately relaxed, a soft smile forming instinctively as he called out gently, "Hey, doll. You need anything?"

Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you smiled back softly. "No, I'm good, James. Just heading upstairs."

"Alright," he said warmly. "Let me know."

As you left, Sam stared at Bucky, eyebrows raised incredulously. "Doll? Really?"

Bucky shot him a look, mildly annoyed. "What?"

Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Come on, Buck. You seriously haven't made a move yet?"

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly. "It's complicated."

"No, it's really not," Sam countered, amused. "Dude, I've seen you flirt with my sister. You're not shy."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "This is different."

"How?" Sam asked, clearly entertained.

Bucky glanced toward the empty hallway, expression softening considerably. "Because this matters."

Sam raised his eyebrows knowingly. "Then maybe you should do something about it."

Bucky sighed heavily, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah. Maybe."

Sam chuckled, lightly clapping Bucky on the shoulder as he passed. "Better do it soon, Barnes. Before someone else beats you to it."

Bucky watched him leave, letting out a long breath before muttering quietly to himself, "Yeah. I know."

---

It was late evening, the common room lights turned low, the city beyond the windows glittering quietly. Most of the team had already retreated to their rooms, leaving the space comfortably silent. You padded softly into the room, carrying a small plate with a slice of leftover carrot cake, glancing up when you spotted Bucky sitting quietly on the couch, his eyes distant.

"Hey," you said softly, settling comfortably next to him, knees brushing lightly. "Didn't realize anyone else was still awake."

Bucky’s gaze softened instantly as he turned to you. "Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

You nodded, taking a small bite of your cake. Without thinking, you offered him the next bite—something that had become routine over the past weeks. He leaned forward easily, accepting the forkful without hesitation.

"Thanks, doll," he murmured, swallowing and smiling faintly.

The familiar nickname fluttered warmly in your chest. You nudged his knee gently with your own. "You're welcome, James."

He studied you for a moment, his expression turning curious. "Why do you always call me that?"

You raised an eyebrow, smiling softly. "James?"

He nodded, shifting slightly so he faced you better. "Yeah. Everyone else calls me Bucky."

You paused thoughtfully, glancing down at your plate with a faint, embarrassed smile. "Oh. Um, it's a bit embarrassing."

Bucky tilted his head, intrigued now. "Now you gotta tell me."

You laughed softly, leaning back against the cushions as you met his gentle eyes. "Well, when I found out I was getting a new neighbor—" you sighed playfully, shaking your head, "Jessica might've, you know, looked into you a little."

Bucky raised an amused eyebrow. "Looked into me?"

"Yeah," you admitted sheepishly, smiling. "She said your real name was James. So when I finally met you in the hallway, it just sort of... came out. After that, it felt weird to switch to Bucky."

He chuckled quietly, eyes crinkling warmly. "So, your friend stalked me."

"Investigated," you corrected teasingly. "She prefers that term."

"Right," he said dryly, lips tugging into a smile. "And all this time, you never thought to switch to Bucky?"

You shrugged lightly, bumping his shoulder gently with your own. "I like James better. It feels... real, you know?"

His gaze softened noticeably, voice dropping slightly. "Yeah. I know."

You held his gaze for a long moment, neither of you looking away. The silence was comfortable but charged, something shifting gently in the quiet between you. You hesitated, feeling your pulse quicken slightly.

"You okay?" you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Bucky exhaled slowly, leaning closer just slightly, his knee pressing gently against yours. "Better now."

You smiled softly, cheeks warming as you carefully looked away, setting your empty plate down on the table. "You're sweet."

He nudged your shoulder gently, voice quiet. "Don’t let the others hear you say that."

You laughed quietly, nudging him back. "Secret's safe with me."

"Good," he murmured, voice warm and gentle, lingering comfortably beside you. "Wouldn't want them getting ideas."

You glanced at him again, smile faint but sincere. "Oh, I think they already have plenty of ideas, James."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head lightly. "Yeah, probably."

You leaned slightly closer, voice quiet but playful. "Is it really so bad?"

His gaze softened again, a quiet intensity flickering briefly in his eyes. "No," he admitted gently. "Not at all." Your smile grew warmer as you settled comfortably against him, both of you content to let the quiet stretch easily between you, the warmth of his presence finally enough for now.

---

Early morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, warming your shoulders as you quietly stirred your coffee. A bowl of cereal sat half-forgotten in front of you as your eyes lingered absently on the countertop. Just down the hall, faintly, you heard the familiar upbeat tune drifting into the kitchen.

"It's Patsy! It's Patsy! I really wanna be your friend..."

You froze for a second, breath catching as the cheerful song tugged uncomfortably at the edges of your memories. You shook your head slightly, trying to refocus on your coffee as your pulse quickened slightly.

Just then, you felt Bucky’s presence enter the kitchen. You didn’t look up, but you felt his quiet gaze settle on you. A moment later, you heard him step toward the living room.

"Hey, Alexei?" Bucky's voice carried gently but firmly down the hall. "Maybe try something else. Have you ever seen The Office?"

Alexei let out a thoughtful hum, clearly intrigued. "Is it funny?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered calmly. "I think you'll like it." You heard the channel change, the familiar jingle quickly replaced with a new, more welcome sound—the opening notes of a different, much lighter comedy.

You exhaled softly, shoulders easing as you stared down at your coffee mug again. Bucky quietly reentered the kitchen, pausing just long enough to pour himself a cup of coffee before sliding onto the stool beside you. He didn’t say anything, giving you the space you needed, but he stayed close, his presence quietly reassuring.

Slowly, you reached over, silently slipping your hand into his—finding his metal one—and gently squeezing his fingers.

Bucky went still for a second, looking down at your joined hands before his fingers gently curled around yours in response, his thumb softly brushing against your knuckles.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

---

You had already left for work when Bucky walked into the kitchen. The rest of the team was already there, and when they saw him they suddenly went silent. Bucky stopped abruptly, coffee cup halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing slightly. "What?" he asked cautiously, looking around at the team's carefully neutral expressions.

"Nothing," John said quickly, looking away a bit too casually. "Just having breakfast."

Ava silently studied her cereal, avoiding eye contact. Alexei grinned a little too widely, nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes, breakfast," Alexei echoed cheerfully, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Very delicious."

Bucky stared at them for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. "You're all acting weird."

Bob shifted uncomfortably, glancing around. "Uh, nope. Just... eating breakfast. Like John said."

Yelena finally sighed loudly, throwing down her spoon in frustration. "Oh, for God's sake, I'm tired of your bullshit, Bucky."

He blinked at her in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Yelena crossed her arms, glaring at him. "You know how many times I've wanted to lock the two of you on the balcony and have you fend for yourselves? Watching you dance around each other is physically painful."

Bucky stared at her, eyes widening slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," John muttered, clearly losing patience. "We've all seen it."

Bob nodded quickly, looking relieved someone finally said it. "It's true. You and Y/N—it's obvious."

Alexei slammed his palm on the table dramatically. "Painfully obvious!"

Bucky sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Guys, seriously—"

"No," Yelena cut him off sharply. "Stop avoiding this. You like her. She likes you. Do something about it before I lose my mind."

Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly. "And this is your business because…?"

"Because we're all tired of watching you stare longingly like a sad puppy," Ava said dryly.

John nodded in agreement, leaning back comfortably. "Honestly, it's starting to get pathetic."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, looking slightly offended. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Yelena shot back flatly. "Someone had to say it."

Bob smiled gently, offering an encouraging look. "We just want you both to be happy."

Alexei nodded enthusiastically again. "Exactly. Y/N is perfect for you—smart, pretty, excellent baker. You must not waste this opportunity, Barnes!"

Bucky exhaled sharply, clearly flustered. "I'm not—I'm not wasting anything."

Yelena raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Then why haven't you made a move?"

Bucky hesitated, sighing quietly. "It's complicated."

Ava rolled her eyes softly. "Not that complicated."

Alexei gestured dramatically. "You take Y/N to nice dinner. You confess deep feelings. You kiss—very romantic."

Bucky groaned, shaking his head slightly. "You’re oversimplifying."

"No," Yelena said firmly, eyes narrowing. "You're overcomplicating. Do you like her or not?"

He paused, voice softening reluctantly. "Yeah. Of course I do."

"Then do something about it," John said pointedly. "We’ve been suffering through this long enough."

Bucky sighed again, looking at each of them carefully. "Fine. I'll figure it out. Happy?"

Yelena gave him a satisfied nod. "Yes. And if you don't, I swear I’ll lock you both on the balcony. I'm not kidding."

Alexei beamed proudly. "See? My methods always effective."

Bucky shot Alexei a dry look. "Yeah, subtle as always."

Alexei shrugged happily, unbothered. "Subtlety overrated."

Bucky shook his head lightly, finally sipping his coffee. "Just keep your noses out of it, okay?"

Yelena smirked faintly. "Only if you finally do something."

He sighed deeply, rolling his eyes slightly. "Noted."

"Good," she replied lightly, returning calmly to her cereal. "Glad we had this talk."

Bucky glanced around the room once more, exhaling tiredly. "Yeah. Great talk."

---

Later that evening, you stepped into the gym area, glancing around uncertainly. Yelena stood near the mats, adjusting a sleek, black wristband. “You’re sure you need me for this?” you asked skeptically, setting your bag down.

“Relax,” Yelena said smoothly, smiling innocently. “I just need to test some new tech on someone who isn’t… super.”

“Thanks,” you muttered dryly. “Love being the baseline.”

Across the room, you noticed Ava and John lounging on benches, trying way too hard to look casual. Alexei leaned against the wall, pretending to stretch.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why is everyone here?”

John shrugged, suddenly fascinated by his shoes. “Just hanging out.”

“Right,” you said, clearly unconvinced.

Bucky entered just then, stopping abruptly when he saw you. His eyes flickered quickly to Yelena, clearly suspicious. “What’s going on?”

Yelena waved him off dismissively. “Testing my wristband on a non-superhuman.”

Bucky glanced back at you, visibly concerned. “Is that safe?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Relax, James. It’s just a wristband. Worst case, it buzzes.” Bucky didn’t look convinced but leaned back against the wall beside Ava, eyes tracking you carefully.

“Ready?” Yelena asked, arching an eyebrow at you.

You nodded hesitantly. “I guess.”

Yelena moved easily into a fighting stance. You mimicked her—far less gracefully—raising your hands awkwardly. “Just… go easy on me?”

Yelena smiled, feigning innocence. “Always.”

She tapped the wristband, and a soft glow lit along her fingertips. You barely had a moment to register it before she moved forward. Her punch was deliberately slow; you raised your arms instinctively to block—but then something happened. The wristband emitted a faint pulse, and suddenly Yelena’s fist moved much faster. “Whoa!” you yelped, stumbling back.

Yelena pulled her punch instantly, concern flickering in her eyes. “You good?”

You nodded quickly. “Fine. Just… unexpected.”

“You’re doing great,” Ava said encouragingly, biting back a smirk. Bucky’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion deepening.

You resumed your stance again, carefully watching Yelena. She moved forward again, slower this time. You braced yourself, prepared—but once again, the wristband pulsed unexpectedly. You ducked awkwardly, losing your footing completely.

Before you hit the ground, strong arms caught you firmly, steadying you against a broad chest. Your breath hitched sharply as you looked up into Bucky’s concerned face.

“You okay, doll?” he murmured softly, voice low enough only you could hear.

Your cheeks flushed hotly, heart suddenly racing. “Yeah,” you whispered breathlessly. “I’m—I’m good.”

Neither of you moved for a long moment, eyes locked, entirely too close. You felt your pulse hammering in your chest, certain he could feel it too.

Nearby, Yelena cleared her throat deliberately. Bucky blinked, finally helping you back onto your feet. He didn’t step back immediately, lingering just a little too close. “Maybe call it quits for today?”

Yelena smirked faintly, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”

You glanced down awkwardly, cheeks still burning. “Thanks for the save, James.”

His eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Anytime.”

You turned away quickly, grabbing your things. As you walked toward the exit, you caught Ava shooting Yelena a pointed look, clearly suppressing laughter. “Subtle,” you heard Bucky mutter dryly behind you, making your face burn even hotter.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yelena replied innocently, already removing the wristband. You shook your head, fighting back a shy smile as you quickly slipped out of the gym.

---

The team, other than Bob, had gone out on a simple arms deal, leaving the Watchtower to you and Bob tonight. You taught him how to make tiramisu before settling on the couch showing him Modern Family.

"Phil's my favorite," Bob admitted shyly, smiling warmly. "He's just so... earnest."

You chuckled softly. "Yeah, he's got that charming dad energy."

Bob's smile brightened. "Exactly."

Your phone buzzed suddenly on the table, Jessica’s name lighting up the screen. You reached for it casually, answering without really looking. "Hey Jess—"

"Are they gone?" Jessica cut in sharply, voice tense.

You frowned, instantly alert. "The team? Yeah, they're out on an arms deal—wait, how do you even know—"

"It’s a set-up," Jessica interrupted quickly. "There’s no arms deal. Fisk arranged it."

You sat up abruptly, heart pounding. "Fisk?"

"He has cops on the way to the tower right now," Jessica said urgently. "They're coming for you. He knows you have that hard drive. He knows you've seen the files."

Your throat tightened. "Wait, Jess—"

"Get out, Y/N," Jessica hissed. "Right now—"

The line abruptly cut out, the room plunging suddenly into total darkness. "Bob," you whispered sharply, panic rising, "power's out."

Bob sat forward quickly, clearly alert. "What's going on?"

"We're in trouble," you whispered urgently, standing quickly. "Fisk's men are coming here. We have to get out."

Bob followed you immediately, eyes wide but determined. "Okay—what do we do?"

"We need to signal the team," you said quickly, moving carefully toward the windows. "Or Jessica—someone." Before you reached the window, you heard a heavy thud from the stairwell. Footsteps echoed loudly, many footsteps, moving quickly.

"They're already here," Bob breathed nervously.

You grabbed his arm tightly. "We need to move. Now."

Quietly, you both hurried toward the hallway, staying close to the walls. Voices sounded from behind, harsh and commanding. "Find the engineer," one barked. "Fisk wants her dealt with."

Bob glanced at you nervously, his voice shaking slightly. "Y/N—"

You squeezed his arm reassuringly. "We got this."

Together, you moved swiftly down the hall, heading toward the emergency stairwell. Suddenly, the door slammed open, two officers appearing with flashlights blazing. "There!" one shouted sharply.

You stumbled back, heart racing. Bob stepped quickly in front of you, blocking their line of sight. "Get behind me," Bob whispered urgently.

The officers approached, weapons raised. "Move aside, kid."

Bob stood firm, hands trembling slightly at his sides. "Leave her alone."

The officer laughed cruelly, stepping forward aggressively. "Or what?"

Bob’s eyes flickered uncertainly, glancing back at you. You nodded slightly, heart pounding, offering him silent reassurance. Bob swallowed, turning back slowly. "Or this," he whispered softly.

Suddenly, a powerful surge of energy erupted from his hands, throwing the officers backward violently. They crashed into the far wall, sliding limply to the ground. You stared, stunned. "Bob—holy shit."

Bob stared down at his shaking hands, eyes wide. "I—I haven't done that since—"

You grabbed his arm gently, pulling him forward. "We have to go."

You moved quickly toward the stairs again, pulse racing in your ears. Footsteps echoed behind you, more officers quickly closing in. "Keep moving!" you whispered sharply.

Gunfire erupted suddenly, bullets narrowly missing as you both scrambled toward cover. You ducked behind the corner wall, breath ragged. Bob pressed close beside you, panic clear on his face. "What now?" he gasped quietly.

You exhaled sharply, mind racing. "We gotta fight."

Bob swallowed nervously, nodding firmly. "Okay."

You both moved out simultaneously, Bob’s powers surging forward again, throwing several officers down the hallway. You grabbed a metal pipe that had been knocked loose, swinging desperately at the nearest attacker. You felt a sharp, painful blow graze your temple, warmth trickling down your cheek. You stumbled back slightly, vision briefly swimming.

"Y/N!" Bob shouted, rushing to your side.

"I'm okay," you gasped, steadying yourself. "Keep going!"

---

Outside, across the city at the docks, the team stood impatiently by empty shipping containers. Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"This is too easy," she muttered sharply.

Bucky's phone rang sharply, Jessica’s name on the screen.

"Jessica?" Bucky asked cautiously, answering quickly.

"Hey dumbass," Jessica snapped urgently, "it's a goddamn setup. Fisk sent you out there as a distraction. He's got cops hitting the tower. Y/N's in trouble."

Bucky’s expression shifted instantly, panic flaring. "Shit." He spun toward the team, voice harsh. "We have to go—now. It's a setup."

Yelena swore sharply, already sprinting back toward the car. "Move!"

---

At the tower, you and Bob had retreated deeper into the building, ducking into the main conference room. You leaned heavily against the door, breathing ragged. Blood dripped slowly from your temple, staining your collar. Bob watched you anxiously. "You're hurt."

You waved him off weakly, wincing slightly. "It's fine. Just—"

The door shuddered violently, officers pounding loudly. You jumped back, heart hammering. "Y/N," Bob whispered softly, voice shaking. "I'm sorry."

You stared at him gently, stepping closer. "Don't be. You were amazing."

The door splintered abruptly, officers spilling aggressively into the room. You raised the pipe weakly, stepping protectively in front of Bob. "Leave him alone," you hissed sharply. "He's not part of this."

"Fisk only wants you," one officer sneered cruelly, raising his weapon. Suddenly, a series of heavy thuds sounded from the hall, punctuated by muffled shouts and crashes. The officer turned sharply, gun wavering uncertainly.

You smiled faintly, relief flooding you.

"What the—" he muttered uncertainly. The door burst open again, a figure moving swiftly in the darkness, metal arm catching the faint moonlight. Officers crumpled swiftly, dropping heavily to the ground.

Bucky stepped forward quickly, eyes wild with concern. "Y/N?"

You exhaled shakily, stumbling forward. "James."

He caught you instantly, arms tightening protectively. "You're bleeding."

"I'm okay," you whispered weakly, gripping his arm. "Bob—"

"I'm fine," Bob assured quickly, voice shaking slightly. "Thanks for coming."

Yelena stepped swiftly through the door, kicking one of the downed officers sharply. "Suki. Fisk really went all out."

Bucky's grip tightened around you, voice rough with tension. "We're getting you both out of here."

You leaned heavily into him, relief overwhelming you. "Thank you."

He gently touched your bloodied temple, eyes dark with worry. "Always, doll."

You smiled faintly, heart easing at his quiet reassurance. Alexei and Ava quickly cleared the hallway, making sure the threat was gone. John stood quietly by the doorway, nodding firmly. "All clear," John said evenly.

Bucky carefully guided you toward the hall, arm secure around your waist. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

You nodded slowly, leaning heavily into his reassuring warmth. "Yeah. Okay."

He pressed gently closer, voice quiet and fiercely protective. "You're safe now. I promise."

You exhaled softly, relief finally easing the tight knot in your chest. "I know, James."

Bob followed closely behind, eyes wide but calm. "Thank you all."

Yelena smiled gently, nudging him warmly. "You did good, Bob."

Alexei clapped him heartily on the back. "Yes! Bob is hero tonight."

Bob smiled shyly, flushing slightly. "Thanks."

Bucky kept you close, refusing to let go even as you stepped into the elevator. You leaned softly into him, finally safe.

---

You sat quietly on the edge of your bed, trying to stay perfectly still while Bucky gently cleaned the cut on your temple. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, as though afraid he'd hurt you more. "Sorry," he murmured softly when you winced slightly. His eyes softened further. "I'm almost done."

"It's fine," you said quietly, offering a faint smile. "I'm tougher than I look."

He chuckled softly, carefully applying a small bandage over the wound. "Believe me, I know."

He sat back slightly, his eyes still assessing your face for any further injury. He paused, reaching out to gently brush his thumb over your bruised cheekbone. His jaw tightened slightly, a flash of anger flickering in his gaze. "I should've been here," he muttered quietly, clearly frustrated. "I should've known something wasn't right."

You reached up, lightly taking his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "James, it's not your fault. Fisk knew exactly what he was doing."

He exhaled heavily, turning his hand to intertwine your fingers gently. "Maybe. But it won't happen again. Not on my watch."

Your heart fluttered quietly at the conviction in his voice. You gently squeezed his hand again. "I know." He sat beside you quietly, the silence comfortably warm. You glanced toward the closed bedroom door, thinking briefly of Bob. "Bob was amazing tonight," you murmured softly. "He really stepped up."

Bucky smiled faintly, nodding. "Yeah, he did. He's tougher than any of us gave him credit for."

You chuckled gently. "Guess we both surprised you tonight, huh?"

His eyes softened noticeably, his thumb gently brushing along your knuckles. "You've been surprising me since the day we met."

Your cheeks warmed slightly, and you looked down, smiling softly. "That's a good thing, right?"

He chuckled quietly, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own. "Definitely a good thing."

The silence settled again, comfortable and gentle. You hesitated briefly before softly breaking it again. "When Jessica called me, I was so scared," you admitted quietly, glancing up at him slowly. "Not just for me, but for Bob too. Fisk doesn't care who gets hurt as long as he gets what he wants."

Bucky's grip tightened slightly around your hand, voice rough and protective. "We'll handle Fisk. He won't touch you again."

"I trust you," you whispered softly, holding his gaze firmly. "I trust you with everything, James."

His eyes widened slightly, a brief flash of vulnerability crossing his face. Carefully, he raised his free hand, cupping your cheek gently. "I promise," he murmured firmly. "I won't let you down."

You smiled warmly, leaning slightly into his touch. "You haven't yet."

His thumb brushed softly over your skin, gaze lingering gently on your face. Slowly, he leaned closer, his forehead lightly resting against yours. Your breath hitched quietly, heart suddenly pounding. "James?" you whispered softly.

"Yeah?" he murmured, voice rough and low.

Your pulse hammered in your chest, nerves and anticipation mingling warmly. "Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to do it first?"

He smiled faintly, lips brushing gently against yours. "Don't rush me, doll. I'm getting there."

You chuckled softly, warmth flooding your chest. "Sorry. Please continue."

He laughed softly against your lips, finally closing the distance fully. The kiss was gentle but firm, his metal hand carefully cupping your cheek, his other hand tightly intertwined with yours.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, lips still just inches from yours. "I've been wanting to do that for way too long."

You smiled warmly, heart racing softly. "Me too."

He kissed you again, softer this time, lingering gently. When he finally drew back, he rested his forehead lightly against yours once more, exhaling softly. "You should get some rest," he murmured gently, voice full of warmth. "You've had a hell of a night."

"Stay," you whispered softly, heart fluttering nervously. "Please?"

His eyes softened gently, fingers squeezing yours reassuringly. "Of course, sweetheart."

You shifted further onto the bed, and he carefully moved beside you, pulling you gently against his chest. You sighed softly, relaxing fully against him, feeling safer than you had in days. "Goodnight, James," you murmured quietly, eyes fluttering closed.

He pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, voice warm and protective. "Goodnight, doll." You drifted easily to sleep, secure and peaceful, his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

---

The next morning, you woke slowly, blinking softly in the bright sunlight streaming through your windows. Bucky’s steady breathing was warm against your hair, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. You shifted slightly, turning carefully to face him, your movement waking him gently.

"Morning," you murmured softly, smiling shyly.

He blinked slowly, lips curving gently into a sleepy smile. "Morning, sweetheart. Sleep okay?"

"Better than I have in weeks," you admitted quietly, snuggling gently against his chest.

"Good," he murmured softly, holding you closer. "Me too."

A sudden loud knock sounded sharply on your door, startling you both. "Hey!" Yelena called loudly from the hallway. "We have breakfast. You two done making googly eyes yet?"

Bucky groaned softly, dropping his forehead lightly against your shoulder. "I’m gonna kill her."

You laughed softly, gently kissing his cheek. "It's fine. She means well."

He raised his head, smirking faintly. "She’s a menace."

"You adore her," you teased lightly, nudging him gently.

"Don’t tell her that," he muttered dryly, reluctantly sitting up.

You smiled softly, reaching out to gently take his hand again. "Thank you. For staying."

His gaze softened warmly, fingers gently squeezing yours. "Always."

Another knock sounded impatiently. "If you two aren't out in five minutes, Alexei will eat all the waffles!"

Bucky sighed heavily, shaking his head as he stood, gently tugging you up with him. "Duty calls."

You chuckled lightly, leaning comfortably against him as you walked toward the door. "It's never boring, at least."

He smiled gently, glancing down at you fondly. "Definitely not."

You both stepped out into the hallway, met immediately by Yelena’s amused gaze. "Finally," she drawled dryly, smirking faintly. "We thought you’d never emerge."

"You're hilarious," Bucky muttered sarcastically, gently guiding you past her.

She raised an eyebrow knowingly, falling into step beside you. "Glad you finally took my advice, Barnes."

He rolled his eyes slightly, voice flat. "Yeah, thanks, Yelena. Couldn’t have done it without you."

"You're welcome," she replied smugly, clearly pleased.

You laughed softly, gently squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Come on. Let's get waffles before Alexei actually eats them all."

Bucky chuckled softly, relaxing further as the three of you stepped into the lively kitchen. Alexei greeted you enthusiastically, mouth already stuffed full of waffles. "Y/N! Barnes!" Alexei boomed cheerfully, crumbs flying. "Waffles today—excellent cooking from Bob!"

Bob smiled shyly from the stove. "Morning."

"Morning," you replied warmly, moving closer to him. "You okay?"

He nodded gently, offering a faint smile. "Better now."

"Good," you murmured softly, nudging him gently. "Thanks for breakfast."

He flushed slightly, ducking his head. "Least I could do."

Bucky stepped beside you again, his hand gently resting at the small of your back. "How you holding up, Bob?"

Bob smiled shyly, clearly grateful. "Pretty good, actually. Thanks."

Alexei loudly interrupted again, waving a waffle around dramatically. "Bob is a true warrior! We must celebrate properly."

John sighed tiredly from his spot at the counter, sipping his coffee. "It's eight in the morning, Alexei. Give it a rest."

Alexei scoffed indignantly. "Never too early for celebration."

Yelena rolled her eyes softly, sliding gracefully onto a stool. "It's definitely too early for you."

You laughed quietly, leaning warmly into Bucky’s side as the team bantered playfully around you. Bucky gently squeezed your waist, voice soft and warm. "You okay?"

You nodded gently, smiling up at him. "Perfect."

He smiled faintly, eyes softening warmly as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "Good."

Around you, the lively kitchen buzzed happily, warm sunlight pouring gently through the windows. For the first time in a long time, everything felt safe, comfortable, and perfectly right.

Until the elevator dinged.

You glanced toward it, eyebrows furrowing slightly as the doors slid open. Jessica stepped out, scanning the room sharply until her gaze landed firmly on you. Her eyes immediately narrowed, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she stalked quickly forward.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," Jessica snapped, ignoring everyone else entirely. "You couldn’t answer your phone? I've been calling you for hours."

You winced slightly. "I'm sorry, Jess. It was… a long night."

Jessica’s eyes narrowed even further as she took in the bandage on your temple. "Clearly. Are you okay?"

"I’m okay," you said quickly. "Just a bit bruised."

Bucky stepped slightly closer, hand still resting protectively on your lower back. Jessica’s gaze instantly flickered toward him, expression shifting into something sharply assessing. "You let her get hurt?" Jessica asked coldly, eyes locked on Bucky.

He frowned slightly, jaw tightening. "We got back as fast as we could."

Jessica stared him down. "Not fast enough."

"Jess," you cut in gently, touching her arm softly. "They saved me—and Bob. Fisk caught us off guard, not them."

Jessica’s expression eased a fraction, eyes flickering to you again. "Bob?"

Bob waved awkwardly from behind Alexei. "Hi."

Jessica blinked once, clearly unimpressed. "Him?"

"He’s tougher than he looks," you assured gently. "He had my back."

Bob smiled shyly, straightening slightly. "I did my best."

Jessica exhaled sharply, clearly still irritated. "Fine."

Yelena leaned casually against the counter, smirking faintly. "You must be Jessica. We've heard so much."

Jessica’s eyes flickered toward Yelena, unimpressed. "Funny. I haven't heard anything about you."

Yelena’s smile widened slightly. "Yelena. Nice to finally meet you."

Jessica hummed dryly, eyes narrowing again. "You're the one who thought it was a good idea to let Y/N spar with your weird glow-stick bracelet?"

Yelena shrugged innocently. "It was a controlled environment."

Jessica scoffed. "Sure it was."

Alexei stepped forward, grinning broadly. "Jessica! Y/N’s fierce detective friend. Welcome!"

Jessica stared blankly at him. "Who’s this?"

"Alexei Shostakov, Red Guardian—pleasure to meet you!" he said cheerfully, offering his hand.

Jessica ignored the handshake entirely, turning back toward you. "You sure you want to stay here?"

You laughed softly, gently nudging Jessica’s arm. "I’m fine, Jess. Promise."

Jessica sighed heavily, clearly still annoyed. "Yeah, well, next time maybe text or something. I thought you died." Bucky tensed slightly beside you. Jessica instantly caught it, eyes narrowing at him again. "Relax, Barnes. If she was dead, you'd know."

"Appreciate the reassurance," Bucky muttered dryly.

Jessica shrugged lightly, finally relaxing slightly. "You’re welcome."

You smiled warmly, nudging her again gently. "Thanks for checking up on me."

Jessica rolled her eyes softly, finally softening fully. "Always."

She paused briefly, glancing pointedly at Bucky’s hand still gently resting against your back. Her gaze snapped sharply up to meet yours, one eyebrow arching in silent question. Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you held her gaze calmly. "We’ll talk about it later."

Jessica hummed dryly, eyes flickering briefly to Bucky. "We definitely will."

Bucky cleared his throat slightly, clearly uncomfortable. "Coffee?"

Jessica stared flatly at him. "You offering?"

Bucky sighed lightly. "Seems polite."

She continued her staring before replying, “you wouldn’t happen to have whiskey? Or bourbon?”

Bucky blinked once. “It’s eight in the morning.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Exactly.”

Alexei brightened immediately, waving his hand enthusiastically. “We have bourbon! Come, Jessica, we celebrate your bravery!”

Jessica eyed Alexei skeptically. “Celebrate?”

“Your successful rescue mission!” Alexei announced loudly, grabbing the bottle from the cabinet. “And also your magnificent arrival. Very dramatic. We drink to your courage!”

Jessica glanced at you flatly. “This guy serious?”

You laughed softly, shrugging lightly. “He’s always serious.”

Jessica sighed deeply, but accepted the glass Alexei eagerly poured. “Fine. But only because I just spent all night thinking you were dead.”

“Thanks, Jess,” you murmured softly, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder gently.

Bob smiled shyly at Jessica, still lingering nervously by the stove. “Would you like a waffle?”

Jessica blinked at him, expression unreadable. “You cooked?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Sort of a tradition after... stressful situations.”

Jessica hesitated briefly before nodding slowly. “Sure. I like traditions.”

Bob smiled brightly, quickly handing her a plate. “Hope you like it.”

Jessica took a bite, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. “Not bad.”

Bob flushed slightly, clearly pleased. “Thanks.”

John eyed Jessica cautiously, arms folded. “So you’re the private investigator?”

Jessica glanced at him dryly. “And you’re the disgraced ex-Captain America?”

John’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Walker’s fine.”

She shrugged lightly. “Jones.”

Ava smirked faintly from beside Yelena. “You have a way with people.”

Jessica shot Ava a flat look. “So do you, Ghost.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. “You’ve done your homework.”

Jessica hummed quietly, sipping her bourbon again. “Comes with the territory.”

Alexei clapped Jessica heartily on the back, making her cough slightly. “You are impressive woman, Jones. Private detective, rescuer, fighter—like Y/N. She fixes everything!”

Jessica glanced at you dryly. “Yeah, she’s annoyingly competent.”

You smiled softly, gently squeezing Bucky’s hand, voice warm and teasing. “You love me.”

Jessica sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Unfortunately.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, relaxing further beside you. “Glad we agree.”

Jessica eyed him sharply, feigning annoyance. “Careful, Barnes. You’re not off my shit-list yet.”

“Duly noted,” Bucky murmured dryly.

Yelena smirked again, clearly amused. “I think I like you, Jessica.”

Jessica shot her a mild glare. “Please don’t.”

Alexei beamed proudly, raising his glass cheerfully. “A toast! To new friendships, surviving Fisk’s men, and waffles!”

Jessica sighed heavily, but raised her glass resignedly. “Sure. To waffles.”

You laughed softly, raising your own coffee mug gently. “To waffles.”

Bucky smiled faintly, gently squeezing your waist. “To waffles.”

The rest of the team echoed the toast warmly, Alexei cheerfully pouring another round of bourbon despite Jessica’s mild protests. Jessica leaned closer, voice low as she glanced meaningfully between you and Bucky. “Seriously, details. You’re telling me everything later.”

You smiled shyly, leaning further into Bucky’s warmth. “Promise.”

She hummed quietly, finally softening again as she took another sip. “Good.”

[gothcsz]

Flex | Your Favorite Pedro Boy x F!Reader | ~2.3k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI. | ACCOMPANYING ART BY @/KING-SIMP

Summary: Hooking up with the guy you picked up at a party.

Tags: smut, pwp, pussy eating, face riding, dirty talk, bicep/arm worship, cum eating, lots of kissing, a good time all around, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, barely beta'd/edited so any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: we're all going feral over pedro's biceps so i had to write this. for the culture. i couldn't decide which character of his to write it about, so i tried to write this as ambiguous as possible so that the majority could delude alongside me 🙂‍↕️ (for me, it's our beloved general marcus a because oof the brainrot for that man is real asf) thank you to everyone who has been horny about this with me today, i am so glad we are all on the same page🖤 i hope you guys like it and as always, please let me know what you think and which p-boy you imagined, hehe enjoy cariños. 🖤

“C’mon, I can feel you holding back.” 

Your hips keep their steady rhythm, grinding against his face, his tongue relentless against your clit while his nose presses deep inside you. The curve of it sends shockwaves through your body, your eyes rolling back as you ride his mouth.

He's right—you are holding back. Not because you want to, but because you're afraid of what will happen if you let go completely.

“Feels s-so good just like this,” you whimper, nails digging into the firm muscle of his thighs. His cock, flushed and leaking, rests on his stomach, aching for attention. But he told you not to worry about him—that his pleasure comes from making you fall apart on his tongue, from turning your brain into nothing but static and heat.

And while you are tempted to lower your face, wrap your lips around his swollen, red tip and suck the soul right out of his cock, you really cannot function straight with how expertly he is working your cunt.

“I want more.” He growls, the bite of his grip into your supple skin making you hiss in pain then moan in bliss when he picks up the intensity and pace of his mouth, forcing you to move the way he wants you to.

You let it happen.

The sounds spilling from your lips fill the dimly lit room, the glow from the bedside lamp casting everything in a warm, filthy haze. You keep going, ecstasy cresting higher and higher, until sobs rip from your throat and your body convulses, shaking in his grasp. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t slow down—just keeps that perfect pace until tears slip from your eyes and drip onto his thighs. He’s wrung you out completely.

“Mmmm, you taste so good, baby.”

His voice is thick with satisfaction, but you barely register it. All you can focus on is the slow drag of his calloused hands over your skin as he shifts you off his face, rolling you onto your back. You stare dazedly at the ceiling fan, watching its lazy rotations while you try to remember how to breathe.

He grunts, sitting up, licking his lips and wiping his nose of your essence before he crawls over you, bracing himself on his strong forearms. Even through the haze, you take a moment to admire his handsome features—the sharp curve of his jaw, his facial hair, those beautiful brown eyes that had stolen your breath the moment they locked onto yours.

“You are the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss you passionately, slipping his tongue in your mouth and you moan at the taste of your pussy on his lips, mingling with his spit.

“And you’re so fucking pretty.”

Your cheeks heat, skin still buzzing, a smile tugging at your lips as you try to hide your gleeful expression from this man you only met this afternoon at a mutual friend’s party. 

You turn your head, gaze sweeping over his exposed arms. The dim light casts deep shadows, accentuating every carved muscle, the sinewy stretch of tendons beneath his tanned skin. His biceps flex subtly as he holds himself above you, powerful yet controlled, his weight perfectly balanced as he lowers himself to your neck. His lips press hot and teasing against your throat, the rough graze of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine.

His body fits effortlessly between your thighs, and when the thick underside of his cock glides against your used, aching pussy, a fresh wave of lust crashes over you. 

Your hands move before your mind catches up, fingers sliding over his arms, claiming each one. You trace the dips and ridges, marveling at the warmth of his skin, the scattering of freckles dotting his forearms, the small scars and imperfections that tell stories you want to hear later—much later while wrapped in his embrace. Right now, all you care about is how impossibly good he feels beneath your fingertips, how every flex and twitch makes your cunt clench around nothing.

You’re so lost in your worship of him that you barely register the words murmured against your neck, his breath hot and teasing while you grind against each other.

“What’s got you so distracted?” He rasps a bit tauntingly, licking the shell of your ear before nipping at your lobe, pulling back and following your gaze.

“These arms…” you moan, arching into him, your breasts pressing against the hard planes of his chest as you tilt closer to the one nearest you. Your lips part, kissing the inside of his wrist, mouth open and wanting.

“Yeah?” His tone is dripping with cocky satisfaction. You ignore it, too lost in the pulse beating beneath your tongue, the intoxicating mix of salt and skin as you bite down just enough to make him grunt.

“Fucking hell, just look at you,” he tuts, his eyes dark with hunger. His hips roll, grinding his cock against your slick folds, but you’re too enraptured with his arms to care. Your other hand strokes the length of his opposite bicep, fingers squeezing, feeling the tension coiled within. You moan softly, delirious, rubbing your cheek against him like you could somehow get closer.

“All fucked out and slobbering all over my wrist.”

His words make your stomach tighten, exhilaration coiling deep, and you don’t even try to stop yourself when you turn your attention to his other arm, kissing, sucking, worshiping. He watches, letting you indulge, letting you lose yourself in the way his body makes you fall apart without him even trying. He’s amused by it, his expression equal parts fondness and possessive satisfaction.

You’re riding the high of being under one of the sexiest men to ever grace this fucking planet.

When you finally pull back, a thin string of spit trailing between your lips and his skin, you look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, a slow, sultry smile curving your mouth. It sparks something in him—an idea.

“I know what I want you to do next.”

Your brow lifts slightly in curiosity. He leans in, brushing a kiss over the tip of your nose, soft, deceptively sweet, before pulling away entirely. The loss of his warmth makes you pout.

Then he settles back against the pillows, getting comfortable—purposefully flexing his arms, making every muscle ripple beneath his skin. Your breath catches, heart pounding, thighs clenching involuntarily. He sees it. Smirks.

“C’mere.” He beckons.

Like a cartoon character floating toward a pie on a windowsill, you crawl toward him, heart-eyed and desperate, ready to sink down on his cock and ride him until either of you can breathe. But he stops you.

“Not there, baby. Up here.” He flicks his chin towards his left bicep and you look at him quizzically despite the intrigue that beats at your pussy. 

“What—”

“Now.”

A command, rough and final.

You moan, nodding, unbothered by how desperate you must look as you reposition yourself, thighs bracketing his thick arm. He helps you adjust until everything aligns just right, until your drenched pussy hovers over the sculpted muscle, the heat of his skin radiating and caressing your swollen clit.

“Get yourself off on it.”

His free hand drifts down, wrapping around his cock, fingers tightening around the thick shaft. His fat thumb circles the swollen head, smearing precum in slow, teasing strokes. 

This is the hottest thing you've ever experienced. There's no way this is real.

But you don’t waste time questioning it—not when you’re in the middle of the filthiest, most intoxicating hook-up of your life.

Bracing yourself with one hand on his broad shoulder, the other groping your breast, you lower yourself onto his bicep. The first grind against the smooth heat of his skin is heavenly.

“Oh my fucking god—”

Your moan is wrecked, unabashedly obscene, your nails digging into his shoulder as your slick coats his arm, making it easier to rock against him. Each movement sends a fresh pulse of pleasure shooting through your body, your swollen clit dragging over the hard, flexing muscle.

He groans, low and appreciative, before letting go of his cock and bringing his palm up to your lips, lust darkened eyes boring into yours. A silent request.

You lazily smile, licking your lips before gathering saliva in your mouth. Then, deliberately, you spit into his open palm, watching as his expression flares with hunger. You wink, but before you can fully revel in your power over him, his bicep twitches—his arm bending at the elbow as his fingers tighten around your ass.

“Oh!” A sharp yelp escapes you, thighs squeezing involuntarily at the sudden jolt of sensation.

He smirks at your reaction, smug and thoroughly entertained, his wet hand returning to his cock. And then he starts stroking himself.

The lewd sounds of slicked skin meeting skin fill the room, each pump of his fist producing an obscene slap against his pelvis. You watch, transfixed, as his other arm flexes, veins and tendons bulging with every controlled stroke.

His bicep expands and contracts beneath you, a living, breathing thing you can't stop grinding against. His balls jiggle slightly from the sheer intensity of his motions, his whole body a display of primal, uninhibited rhapsody.

You pinch your nipple, humping his leg and wailing out like a pussy in heat, the visual of him fucking his fist enough to send you over but you want to continue to enjoy this because fuck—is it so hot.

And then there’s the feel of his other hand gripping your ass, the flesh spilling through the divots of his knuckles. His breath is ragged, brows furrowed, a thin bead of sweat trailing down his temple. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and those pretty brown eyes are locked on you, watching the way you’re going feral on him.

“I’m, oh fuck me,” you break out into a litany of curses before you’re able to fucking think. “I’m so close— ohmygodI’mgonnacome.” Your words run together, spine pulling taught as your orgasm possesses your body.

He laughs, deep and throaty, the sound tapering into a drawn-out groan as his own release lingers on the precipice. His jaw clenches, his body coiling tight.

“Go on,” he growls. “Make a fucking mess.”

And that’s all it takes for you to free fall.

Your thighs clamp around his arm and the motherfucker flexes his bicep again, dragging out your pleasure until you’re nearly delirious. Your hips jerk, fingers yanking at your nipple, riding the euphoric wave until every ounce of bliss is wrung from your body. Your nails rake down his shoulder and across his collarbone, leaving angry red streaks against his brown skin.

“Fuck—” His own release follows, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as hot ropes of cum spill onto his stomach, coating his happy trail, dripping into the dark curls at the base of his cock. His strokes turn brutal, merciless, chasing the last shudders of his orgasm as his grip tightens on your ass, fingers digging deep enough to leave sore spots in the shape of his fingers.

The roaring in your ears dulls, the aftershocks making your limbs tremble. It takes you a moment to realize your eyes had shut completely, the intensity too much to bear. When you finally blink them open, the world is a blur, dark spots dancing in your vision as you struggle to catch your breath.

And when your gaze finally finds his, he’s already watching you—sated, wrecked, and smug as hell.

“Holy shit.”

“That just about sums it up.” His voice is deeper now, having been dragged through the same pleasure-drenched haze as you. You tilt your head, looking down at him, his handsome face making your heart flutter.

“How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Real good.” You giggle, voice airy, light—completely fucked out. You don’t even try to hide it.

He smirks, ego soaring, as it should be. He watches as you shift, your spent body moving off his bicep, your clit still pulsing, raw from how desperately you’d used him. You’re ready to collapse, to melt into the sheets and revel in the afterglow, but then—

Whistle.

A sharp, commanding sound, followed by a tilt of his head toward his arm. Like you’re a pet he’s calling back to heel.

“Can’t just leave it like that.” His tone is lazy, laced with amusement. He wipes the remnants of his release from his hand onto the comforter, utterly unbothered, then reaches for you. His fingers cup the back of your neck, firm yet gentle as he tugs you down, guiding you nose-first into the mess you’d left behind.

“Clean it up.”

And just as you’ve done all night, you obey.

Your tongue flicks out, kitten-licking at his skin, tasting the remnants of your pleasure. The sharp, musky tang floods your senses, making you moan softly as you lap it up, savoring the proof of your own ruin.

“Good girl.” His voice is pure indulgence, his thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against the back of your neck as you work.

Once he’s satisfied, his grip shifts, applying just enough pressure to guide you lower, down his torso, toward the mess he left on himself.

You don’t hesitate.

Your tongue flattens against his stomach, dragging through his release, collecting every drop. You hum at the taste—salt, sweat, and something distinctly him. The coarse hair of his happy trail tickles your lips as you clean him up, the rise and fall of his stomach twitching beneath your touch.

Then, just as you reach his softening cock, you pause—just for a second—before pressing a slow, filthy kiss to the head. A final, lingering seal to your work.

He inhales sharply.

Satisfied, you begin your way back up, lips trailing over his body, over the ridges of muscle, the dip of his collarbone, up the strong column of his throat, until you finally reach his mouth.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, all tongue and warmth, swapping spit and cum like it’s second nature. Swollen lips on swollen lips, bodies still buzzing in the aftershock.

When you finally pull apart, eyes locked, your mouth curls into a flirty smirk.

“What was your name again?”

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @ovaryacted . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7. @syd-djarin . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @manuymesut . @biapascal . @mandaloriankait .

[astroxrion]

Your Soulmate based on your 7th house sign :

Aries 7th House

Your soulmate is bold, direct, passionate. They challenge you, push you, never let you coast. You grow through tension and fire. They force you to stop people pleasing and start owning what you want. Their love feels like adrenaline and demands presence.

Taurus 7th House

Your soulmate is steady, sensual, grounded. They create safety without smothering you. Loyal to the bone but won't let you slack. They teach you to slow down and build. They crave peace but will fight for what's real. Their love looks like consistency not chaos.

Gemini 7th House

Your soulmate is sharp, quick, endlessly curious. They want conversation as foreplay and ideas as intimacy. They keep your mind turned on and your world moving. They'll test your logic and stretch your vision. Boredom dies in their presence. They keep you learning.

Cancer 7th House

Your soulmate is nurturing, soft but deeply loyal. They are home in human form. They remember the details no one else sees. You feel emotionally safe without losing your edge. They help you forgive yourself. Their love is warm meals, deep talks and emotional truth.

Leo 7th House

Your soulmate is magnetic, expressive and dramatic in the best way. They show you how to take up space and own your light. They'll want to be seen with you and celebrate you hard. Their love is public, proud, and impossible to miss. You rise together.

Leo 7th House

Your soulmate is magnetic, expressive, a natural light. They love you out loud and expect you to show up fully. They mirror your greatness back to you. They protect you with pride. Their presence forces you to stop hiding and own your brilliance without fear.

Virgo 7th House

Your soulmate is detail-oriented, devoted, and observant. They bring order where you spiral. Their love is in the little things they fix without asking. They hold you accountable with compassion. They see your mess and still choose you every day with precision.

Libra 7th House

Your soulmate is graceful, charming, emotionally intelligent. They bring balance to your chaos. They challenge you to grow without controlling you. Their love is soft power. They teach you that peace is not weakness but a strategy for real connection and success.

Scorpio 7th House

Your soulmate is intense, emotionally fearless, and transforming. They look at your shadows and do not blink. They pull the real you out from the depths. They crave truth not performance. Their love breaks you open and rebuilds you whole without apology.

Sagittarius 7th House

Your soulmate is wild-minded, open-hearted, and freedom-focused. They push you into new experiences. They will not cage you and will not be caged. They teach you to expand emotionally. Their love feels like a passport and a mirror at the same time.

Capricorn 7th House

Your soulmate is ambitious, reliable, and emotionally composed. They build with you not just love you. They plan your legacy while holding your hand. Their love is a structure you can lean on. They don't waste time. They're here to stay and elevate.

Aquarius 7th House

Your soulmate is unconventional, future-focused, mentally electric. They're not soft but they're loyal in their own way. They give you space but stay connected. Their love is different but real. They challenge you to see love as evolution not ownership.

Pisces 7th House

Your soulmate is intuitive, dreamy, emotionally rich. They feel like déjà vu and destiny in one body. They heal you without trying. Their love flows like art and prayer. They're soft but deep. They remind you that love is spirit choosing spirit.

Get an Astrology Reading With me : https://www.tumblr.com/astroxrion/784631769533136896/o-my-readings-the-rion-code-o?source=share

[cuntyji]

LOVE IS A FOUR LETTER TUG ‪‪❤︎‬ RYOMEN SUKUNA X FEMALE READER

Synopsis: They say fate works in mysterious ways, but no one ever mentioned it could be petty, nosy, and just a little bit theatrical. Tethered by something neither of them asked for, two very tired people must now navigate a world where privacy is a myth, insults are practically foreplay, and the universe apparently thinks it’s hilarious. There’s no guidebook for this sort of thing — just a suspiciously persistent string and the overwhelming urge to win every argument, even if no one remembers what it was about. After all, love might be written in the stars… but this story? It’s scribbled in crayon and aggressively underlined in red.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, fluff with crack, red string theory with possible inaccuracies (this is my interpretation of it), (mentioned) yuuji, nanami, choso, geto, gojo, uraume but they're a cat (they/it pronouns), office worker! sukuna and reader, modern au, implied reincarnation/lovers in every lifetime trope

Note: red string art by vidhic0re on pinterest, red divider by enchanthings

‪‪✶⋆.˚ Ao3

You were never one for romance clichés.

Soulmates? Sounded like a scam from a desperate deity with too much time on their hands.

Fated love? Cute, if you're into spiritual tax fraud.

Red thread of fate? Sounded like something a drunk poet made up while tangled in yarn.

You’d entertained the idea once or twice — late at night, probably during your fifth rewatch of a trashy show, tears pricking at your eyes as two characters found each other across continents. Then the next morning, you’d stub your toe on the coffee table and remember that your only soulmate was pain and poor impulse control.

So you can’t really be blamed for not noticing it happening now.

Not with the humid press of bodies in the metro car, the stale air thick with too many armpits and not enough personal space. Your headphones had long since died, your patience hanging on by the fraying thread of your tolerance for humanity. And then —

Snag.

“—You fucking kidding me?”

You jerk around, already tensing for a fight. A man stands before you — or rather towers, broad-shouldered, impossibly tall, and stupidly pink-haired. Like, offensively pink. His eyes are sharp, crimson, and burning with indignation. Tattoos coil down his arms like they’ve got somewhere to be.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he’s already hissing, tugging at his shirt. Your watch, of course, is gloriously embedded in the fabric near his waistline. Because God, or fate, is an asshole.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, dickhead,” you snap, trying to free yourself without causing a striptease. “If you hadn’t shoved your way in here like you own the place—”

“Shoved?! You clung onto me like I’m your long-lost sugar daddy—”

“Please, you couldn’t afford me.”

He bares his teeth, and for a second you think he might just eat your soul for fun.

You yank. He yanks harder. Somewhere, a sleeve audibly tears. A grandma beside you makes the sign of the cross.

“Stop moving!” you shout.

“Then stop yanking like a rabid raccoon!”

And just beneath the chaos, something else stirs.

Delicate. Quiet. Crimson.

A thin, glowing thread coils out from the fabric of reality — slow, curious — like it’s stretching from an ancient nap. It slinks around your pinky like a cat testing warmth, then tugs itself toward his hand. Wraps, binds. Neither of you notice, too busy trying to kill each other with passive-aggressive tugs and very active-aggressive insults.

“Jesus Christ, your shirt’s made of velcro or what?”

“Maybe your watch is cursed. Did you rob a priest?”

“Why are your abs out—”

“Why are you looking at them—”

You both freeze.

Your faces are this close. Breath shared. You can see the specks of gold in his eyes. He can smell the faint shampoo in your hair. The train jostles again, and your bodies bump together, awkward and too warm. He blinks. You blink.

And that little red thread? It pulses once. Content. Smug, even.

It had only been a few minutes, but it felt like years. Years of verbal sparring, the kind that leaves mental bite marks and a permanent twitch in your eye. Years packed into that hellish metro ride — the suffocating crowd, the friction of bodies, and the absolutely unholy closeness of you and Sukuna, the pink-haired plague on your peace.

It was a symphony of irritation: your bickering crescendoed, echoing off the glass, punctuated by the occasional dramatic gasp (yours, because how dare he bring your mother into this?) and a startlingly feral hiss (his — honestly, who hisses like that? You still weren’t over it).

“Your mom should’ve taught you how to dress like a functional adult,” Sukuna had scoffed, voice sharp enough to pierce through metal.

“And your dentist should’ve filed down your fangs, Edward Cullen,” you’d snapped back, right before his pupils dilated like you’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real. He looked like he was ready to bite you. Like literally bite you. You wondered, not for the first time, if he was just feral or if the metro air made people feral.

And then — click.

Freedom.

Your watch finally popped loose from his clothes, the poor thing traumatized but intact. You both immediately fled to opposite doors like bitter divorcees pretending they didn’t share a Netflix password.

“I hope the next time we meet, I’m deaf,” you shouted across the train.

“I hope the next time we meet, you’ve been replaced by a potted plant — it’d have more brains,” he snarled.

You both stomped off the train at your stop, muttering curses like two gremlins banished from the underworld. Behind you, the invisible red thread simply stretched further, smug and undisturbed, lengthening itself like some magical slinky that refused to be cut. It trailed behind you both like the worst kind of cosmic joke, blissfully unaware that you were both one wrong word away from starting an actual fistfight in the middle of the platform.

After what felt like an entire saga of mentally cussing him out, climbing three flights of stairs because the lift was always slow, and mentally filing an angry complaint to the universe, you finally reached your apartment door. Peace at last.

Well, almost.

You turned toward the elevator, digging through your bag for your keys, and there he was.

There. He. Was.

Leaning casually against the elevator doors like a shampoo commercial gone wrong, arms crossed, pink hair gleaming under the shitty hallway lights, and that same smug little curve on his lips like the universe had just handed him your misery on a silver platter.

You blinked. 

He blinked back, slower, smugger.

“...Are you stalking me?” you asked, flatly, because honestly, at this point, what else could this be? He barked out a laugh, loud and sharp. “You wish. I’m moving in.”

You stared at him. Your brain short-circuited. Your soul left your body and came back just to kick you in the shin.

“What.”

“New tenant,” he said with a little wave. “Landlady said the floor had good lighting. Guess she forgot to mention the infestation.”

“Infest—infestation?!” You nearly dropped your keys. “I hope you fall down the stairs and land teeth-first.”

“I hope your kettle explodes next time you try to make tea, dumbass.”

You both glared — the kind of glare that had probably made old gods weep and babies cry. Somewhere, the elevator dinged softly, its doors opening to welcome one (1) petty pink-haired menace and one (1) emotionally done human.

You both stepped in without looking at each other. The red string followed, still wrapped around your little fingers, stretching gently behind you both — a silent, glowing third wheel that refused to take a hint.

Fuck your life. And fuck fate too, while you were at it.

You really, really thought the next morning would be better.

After the disaster that was yesterday — the metro, the snarling pink-haired gremlin, the revelation that said gremlin lived on your floor, and the fact that you now had to cohabitate oxygen with him — you’d gone to bed with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that promised at least one thing would go right the next day. Just one. Just a sliver of peace, maybe, a moment of normalcy to prove that the universe wasn’t actively putting you on a hit list.

But hah. Nope.

Because you open the front door, step into the hallway in your slightly wrinkled work clothes, clutching the little baggie of food like a knight bearing gifts, and there he is.

Kneeling beside the apartment building’s most beloved freeloader — the white stray Uraume who ruled your collective lives with an iron paw and a fluffy tail — is Sukuna. Hair slightly damp like he just got out of the shower, wearing the kind of shirt that looks like it was bought solely to be hated, crouched down with a tin of wet food in his hands, and smiling.

Smiling. At Uraume, of all things.

Not at you. God no. His smiles for you usually look like they come with optional knives.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you blurt out, the cat food bag crinkling in your hand like even it is alarmed.

“Feeding the cat,” he replies without looking up, his tone smug, too casual, too comfortable. “What does it look like?”“It looks like you’re encroaching on sacred territory,” you snap, stomping closer like you’re about to perform an exorcism. “It’s Wednesday. My day.”

“They don’t know days,” Sukuna shrugs. “It’s a cat. They don’t give a shit if it’s Wednesday or the apocalypse.”

Uraume, for their part, is sprawled between you two like a tiny fluffy deity watching its mortal worshippers squabble, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking lazily as if amused by the sheer idiocy in front of them.

“They know me,” you insist, pointing an accusatory finger. “I bring them tuna. They purr for me.”

“They just purred for me,” Sukuna says smugly, leaning down to stroke their belly. They stretch like royalty, perfectly content. “Face it. They like me better.”

“They tolerate you,” you sneer, crouching down too, now both of you on either side of this indifferent god, cat food containers in hand like offerings in a duel. “Also, why are you using that cheap-ass brand? Uraume’s got a refined palate.”

“You feed a stray like they’re your tax-dependent,” he scoffs. “No wonder it acts like a brat.”

“Uraume is royalty.”

“Uraume has fleas.”

“So do you, probably.”

Uraume chooses this moment to pounce — not on either of you, but at the air just in front of them. They bat at something, paws swiping with focused glee, and you blink.

“...Is she high?” Sukuna mutters, watching as the cat wiggles their butt, springs, and lands on a very specific patch of empty hallway.

“Zoomies,” you say, though you’re not entirely sure. “They do that sometimes.”

Uraume keeps chasing something you can’t see — something red, something delicate, something that dances just ahead of their claws, curling through the air between the two of you. Something threadlike, and taut, and glowing — though not to your eyes. You both just keep bickering, oblivious.

“Seriously though, can’t you go menace someone else?” you grumble, finally standing and dusting off your knees.

“Can’t you find a new hallway?” he shoots back. “This one’s mine now.”

“God, you’re like a mold infestation.”

“And you’re like the stain on a public toilet seat.”

There’s a pause. Uraume is now gently gnawing on the air between your hands, satisfied. You look down. You look up. 

And, with a sigh, you finally mutter, “...What’s your name, anyway?”

He looks vaguely surprised, then smirks. “Sukuna. And yours?”

“Why? Gonna hex me with it?”

“Can’t hex someone without a name. Now cough it up.”

You tell him. He repeats it, rolling it around his mouth like he’s testing how annoying he can make it sound later. “Figures,” he says, straightening up. “Your name sounds like it comes with unsolicited opinions and a constant need to be right.”

“Your name sounds like a rejection email from a demon,” you fire back.

Uraume sneezes. The red string flickers, coils tighter. 

And neither of you still have any goddamn idea.

Despite your better judgment — and trust, it really was against every instinct for self-preservation that you had — you were starting to accept the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sukuna wasn’t entirely the worst.

Not that he was good. No, you would never say that. If anyone ever dared to suggest that Sukuna had an ounce of decency in his entire six-foot-something frame of walking rage, you would probably burst out laughing and then list ten reasons why they should be on a watchlist. You were just… developing the world’s strongest tolerance, like some psychological cockroach capable of surviving nuclear-grade assholery. Yeah, that had to be it.

Because there was no way that Sukuna was a good person.

Not when he once looked old man Nanami in the eye — the sweetest, politest senior citizen in your apartment complex, the one who offered you coconut cookies every Thursday — and said, with no hesitation, "If your grandkid doesn’t shut up by 10 p.m., I’m gonna eat him. Protein is protein."

You were there.

You saw Mr. Nanami’s soul briefly leave his body while clutching little Yuuji, who was just trying to learn how to walk and scream at the same time. You were genuinely surprised Sukuna wasn’t served legal papers the next morning. (You think the only reason Nanami didn’t call the cops is because he didn’t know how to explain ‘My upstairs neighbor threatened to eat my toddler with his whole chest’ without sounding like he was the unhinged one.)

And it wasn’t just the elderly and the infants. Sukuna’s temper was democratic — he picked fights like they were his cardio. Someone sighs too loud? Fight. Someone stands too close in the elevator? Fight. Someone dares to exist within a five-meter radius while also having a smug aura? That was instant fucking fight. You’d honestly gotten used to hearing vague yelling down the hall and not reacting until someone used your name. That was the protocol.

But then there was Gojo.

White-haired menace. Lives somewhere close enough that the chaos occasionally spilled into your airspace. Visits Geto every few days, usually late at night, wearing clothes that screamed "I think rules are suggestions" and a smile that could probably trigger a lawsuit.

And every. single. time. Gojo entered your building, it was like watching two angry cats lock eyes across the hallway. Hissing. Posturing. Threats that sounded like they were ripped out of a trashy sitcom. Once, you woke up at three a.m. to actual growling outside your door.

“For fuck’s sake,” you’d yelled, groggily throwing it open, “Go home or kiss already!”

Both of them had frozen mid-snarl, their hands halfway to each other’s throats.

“Shut up, we’re not into each other!” they barked at you in perfect unison, like that wasn’t the most suspicious thing they could have said.But here was the kicker: he was never like that with you.

Oh, he was still rude. He called your music taste garbage at least twice a week and once accused your bathroom cleaner of smelling like a rotting lemon corpse. But he didn’t fight you. Not like that. Instead, he held elevator doors open with his back against the buttons like it was nothing, barely even glancing at you as you skidded across the floor with your laptop bag flapping behind you like a dying bird.

“You always run like the building’s on fire,” he’d mutter.

“Maybe I’m trying to escape your energy,” you’d shoot back, breathless.

He always told the trash guys to wait when you were sprinting down the stairs with two bags of waste in hand — one dry, one wet, both swinging dangerously. He’d lean against the rail and bark, “Oi, she’s coming,” before casually flicking his cigarette and watching you descend like a chaotic meteor of domestic failure.

“I could’ve managed,” you once grumbled, tossing the bags in as the garbage truck revved.

“You would’ve tripped and died. Then I’d have to feed your cat.”

“Uraume’s not even mine.”

“Then why does it hiss when I call them my cat?”

Touché.

He wasn't nice. He wasn't.

Not to other people. And not in a way that made it easy to like him. But maybe he was conveniently decent to you.

Probably because he wanted a favor someday. Or he was playing the long game. 

Or maybe it was just that he found your chaos mildly entertaining and liked being the one person who got to annoy you without being hit.

Definitely not because he liked you.

Right?

Right.

It wasn’t like you two would wait for each other by the elevator every morning. No, absolutely not — you were both far too emotionally constipated and aggressively independent to admit to something as wildly intimate as synchronized elevator rides.

And yet.

Somehow, like clockwork, you’d step out your apartment door and he’d be there — leaning with one shoulder against the wall beside the lift, arms crossed, coffee already in hand, expression set to his usual ‘who the fuck woke me up’ setting. And on the rare days you were early, you’d pretend you weren’t glancing up from your phone every five seconds just to see if you’d hear the familiar thunk-thunk-thunk of his heavy shoes dragging toward you.

You never greeted each other like normal people. God forbid.

“Oh look, the hallway’s ugliest plant finally bloomed,” you’d say sweetly.

“Aw, how cute. A raccoon in office clothes,” he’d grunt, stepping into the elevator first like the absolute bastard he was.

You two always made it a point to bicker through the entire ride, then all the way to the station. And then — just because the universe hadn’t punished either of you enough — you somehow took the same line to work.

It’d start off harmless — like Coachella 2025, which you both agreed was a walking tragedy, but couldn’t agree on why.

“I’m just saying, you can’t call it a comeback if the vocals sound like someone left a kettle screaming on the stove.”

“They were experimental vocals,” Sukuna huffed. “Not everyone wants the same autotuned garbage you listen to.”

“Says the man whose Spotify Wrapped had three songs Fetty Wap songs in it.”

“Hell yeah it did.”

Or you’d end up arguing over Nanami’s latest sweets — the ones he passed out in neat little boxes with origami on top and a handwritten note. And Sukuna, who had the nerve to say “This tastes like diabetes” with a scrunched-up face, had the audacity to later be caught in the act — crouched in front of the communal fridge, shoveling the leftover sugar-drenched delicacies into his mouth like he was trying to erase all evidence.

You stood at the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. 

“You want me to get you some insulin, champ?”

He didn’t even stop chewing. Just said, around a mouthful of icing, “Fuck off. It’s called recycling. I’m saving the planet.”

And your little morning routine would be incomplete without the stop at the rickety cafe around the corner — a shoebox-sized shop tucked beside a bookstore, smelling like toasted bread and too much cinnamon. The place was run by a sleepy-eyed, nose-ringed man named Choso, who you later found out was Sukuna’s cousin through what had to be divine punishment.

“He looks like he listens to sad violin music in the dark,” you once whispered.

“He does. But he also makes good coffee. Don’t let the existential energy fool you,” Sukuna muttered.

The place was always packed, but somehow, your order would be ready by the time you got to the counter. Tea for you, coffee for Sukuna. Every damn day.

Except for the one time the cups got swapped.

You didn’t notice until you took a long, scalding sip and promptly had your soul exit your body.

“Why does this taste like shit and caffeine?” you coughed.

“Because you’re drinking my coffee, dumbass,” Sukuna muttered from his end, eyeing your cup like he could will it back into his hands.

Neither of you had time to swap. So you just… drank it.

You were wired until 4 p.m., typing up emails like a possessed gremlin. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna? Snored in the middle of a team call. Snored. In his swivel chair. (He still claims the spreadsheet was boring enough to induce a coma.)

And maybe the most ridiculous part of it all was the way the day would end — with both of you pretending like you weren’t keeping an eye on the metro clock, waiting.

“You’re late,” Sukuna would grumble when you jogged up to him, hair windswept, tie lopsided.

“You’re still ugly,” you’d pant, and both of you would file into the train like two mismatched puzzle pieces forced into the same space.

And sometimes, between the back-and-forths and the sleepy evenings, the rocking of the train would lull one of you to sleep. And it was always the same — if he passed out first, head thunking against your shoulder, you’d just sigh and adjust your bag so it didn’t jab him in the ribs, pretending it wasn’t a little warm having his weight on you.

And if it was you, drooling slightly, head falling against him? He’d hiss a bit. Complain. Say things like, “Great. I’m a fucking pillow now,” under his breath. But he’d stay still. Wouldn’t shove you off. And he’d glare at anyone who even so much as looked at the seat beside you like they were thinking of sitting there, as if to say: “Touch her and die.”

And yet you both swore — swore — that none of this meant anything. Just morning routines. Just bickering. Just accidentally tolerating each other. Totally normal. Nothing weird about it at all. Right?

By the time the elevator dinged on your floor and the two of you stepped out, it was the usual symphony of tired bones and overworked brains, the air thick with the shared scent of corporate despair and too-sweet coffee you shouldn’t have had at 4 p.m., but did anyway. Your body ached, your bag hung off your shoulder like dead weight, and Sukuna was just behind you — jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt half-untucked, tie loose and mouth full of complaints he hadn’t started voicing yet. But then —

A tug.

Sharp and sudden, like a fishing line catching tension, like the universe pinched your pinky in a moment of bratty playfulness. Your hand jerked slightly, and you looked down, frowning.

And oh. There it was again. The string.

The same one you thought was a caffeine-induced fever dream. The one that had flickered into existence before, soft as spider silk and just as annoying, but now it was solid — scarlet red, humming faintly with a shimmer of something that felt way too personal and real. It wound snug around your pinky, stretched across the two feet between you, and found its twin grip around Sukuna’s hand.

And he was staring at it too.

His face was unreadable — which was new. Gone was the usual smug, twitchy grimace of a man permanently five seconds away from telling someone to choke. No, right now he looked… quiet. Contemplative. Like he’d seen this before. 

Like he knew something.

“Hey,” he started, voice unusually low, not his usual bark or snarl, but a drawl trying to reach for something softer, something that made your stomach twist unexpectedly, “There’s something I—”

But his words were promptly obliterated by the sudden thump-thump-thump-thump of tiny hands and knees against the floor.

A pink blur came barrelling up the stairwell like a demon on all fours — two-year-old Yuuji, in all his diapered, wide-eyed, suspiciously-strong-for-his-age glory. He practically launched himself up the final step and planted himself directly between the both of you, letting out a squeal of delight as he sat on the floor and began excitedly grabbing at the air.

No — not the air.

The string.

Your eyes widened as his chubby fists tried to catch the flickering red thread, cooing and giggling and babbling nonsense in toddler tongue as if the world’s most entertaining toy had just appeared before him.

“Reeeeddddddd!!” he crowed, crawling into Sukuna’s office shoe like it was his new throne.

You blinked. “Wait. You can see this too?!”

Yuuji looked up at you, beaming, nodding with the pride of a war general. “Pretty!”

“Oh fuck me,” Sukuna muttered under his breath, eyes darting toward the stairwell just as the loud clomp of formal shoes came echoing behind the kid.

Nanami appeared — flushed, panting, tie disheveled like he’d just run a full marathon in work shoes, one hand clutching the stair railing for dear life. He stopped dead when he saw where Yuuji had gone. 

“Oh thank God,” he gasped, bending slightly with his hands on his knees. “I thought I was going to have to file a police report.”

“Your kid just speed-crawled up three floors,” you pointed out, vaguely horrified.

“He does that. I can’t stop him. He’s like a golden retriever possessed by Satan,” Nanami said, coughing.

Meanwhile, Yuuji was now crawling in circles around the two of you, still trying to catch the red string, occasionally grabbing at your legs or Sukuna’s pants like the thing was taunting him. You and Sukuna exchanged a look — not your usual annoyed-glare combo, but a genuinely confused what the hell is going on look.

And again, you noticed the way Sukuna was looking at the string. Not shocked, not panicked. Just tired. Thoughtful. Like a man who had been putting off something inevitable and just ran out of time. You tilted your head. “Okay. What do you know that I don’t?”

He looked like he might say it. Really say it.

But then Yuuji yanked at the thread hard enough to make it pulse — and you felt it, a zap of something warm curling around your chest like it’d coiled straight through your ribs.

“What the hell?!” you flinched.

Sukuna sighed. Muttered something under his breath you didn’t catch. And then, looking straight at you, jaw tense:

“…I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“You better,” you hissed, heart hammering for reasons you refused to unpack right now. 

And behind you, Yuuji was still squealing with joy.

“Red! Red! Red!!”

Nanami quietly took out a juice box from his briefcase and bribed him down the hall. You couldn’t help but think he had the right idea.

Because if you thought the red thread was a joke, now you were the punchline.

And Sukuna?

You were starting to think he’d been reading the script the whole damn time.

You didn’t even realize how long you’d been lying there — not really. The air in your room was heavy, too still, the kind of quiet that felt a little like grief, or maybe a little like denial, something sharp and slow and suffocating all at once. You were on your back, lights still on, phone somewhere lost in the folds of your sheets, your speaker untouched and silent for once — no pop music or shitty love songs to drown out the thoughts.

Just silence.

And the thread.

That fucking thread.

It glowed faintly against the backdrop of your ceiling, rising gently from your pinky like a tendril of smoke, an unwanted, uninvited thing that refused to leave. You lifted your hand, half-wishing it would vanish if you blinked enough times. 

It didn’t. It shimmered in the low light, stubborn and elegant, like the universe had decided it was feeling poetic this week and picked you as its tragic metaphor.

You gave it a slight tug, just to see.

The resulting sting shot through your finger like a spark, making you flinch — and from behind your wall, you heard him.

“Oi!” came Sukuna’s voice, muffled but unmistakably him, rough and indignant, like you’d just elbowed him in the ribs. “What the hell was that for, you—?!”

You immediately turned your back to the wall, rolling with a sigh so dramatic it could have won awards. You stared at your curtains, dull in the soft glow of streetlights outside. “Not now,” you muttered to no one, hoping the string would relay that too.

There was silence. Maybe for five seconds. 

Then another tug. Gentler this time. Hesitant.

You glared at the wall. “What?”

A long pause. And then:

“…You’re not gonna talk to me?” Sukuna’s voice came quieter now, like he didn’t know what to do with it either. “You’ve been quiet for hours. I thought you’d… I don’t know. Start yelling or something.”

You sat up a little, pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes. “Yeah well,” you muttered, “I’ve used up my yelling quota for the month. Thanks for that.”

There was a rustling on his side. A beat. Then another tug — not a sting this time, but something like a nudge, like a poke in the shoulder.

“I didn’t think you’d freak out,” Sukuna admitted, voice low. Too honest. “Figured you’d laugh. Say it’s stupid. Call it a dumb romance trope or whatever.”

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead to your knees. “It is a dumb romance trope,” you whispered. “Except now it’s… real. I can feel it, Sukuna. It hurts when you pull it. It glows. Why does it glow?!”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Then softly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud:

“…Because it’s always been there.”

You froze. Slowly, you turned to face the wall.

“What?”

Sukuna exhaled — you could hear it, rough and frustrated, like he was mad at himself more than anything. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I thought maybe I was just seeing things for a while. It didn’t show up for you yet. But I’ve—”

A pause.

“I’ve seen it. Since the day we met.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

He’d known? This whole time?

“You knew? And you didn’t tell me?” Your voice cracked mid-sentence, sharp with something you didn’t know how to name.

“Would you have believed me?” he bit back, not harsh — just defeated. “You already thought I was insane when we met. You still think I’m insane. Imagine if I’d told you there was some red fucking magical string tying our souls together, huh?”

You opened your mouth to argue. He would’ve sounded completely unhinged. You dragged your hands over your face, trying to breathe through it. Trying not to feel like the floor had dropped out beneath you.

“What does it mean?” you asked, quietly now. “Why us?”

A long silence.

Then Sukuna, tired:

“…I don’t know.”

You swallowed.

“But it’s real, right?”

Another beat.

“Yeah.”

And neither of you spoke after that. But the string pulsed once — soft, warm — and for the first time, you didn’t tug back.

The days after that were strange — soft in the kind of way that crept up on you, like the first breath of cold after a long summer. Not that either of you would admit it, of course. Not in words, not directly. Sukuna still barked when you burned your toast too loud at six in the morning, and you still scoffed when he sprayed too much cologne and gave your sinuses a five-hour long panic attack. But even the insults were different now, frayed at the edges with something gentle.

When Sukuna left for work with his tie somehow inside out — you’d swear the man had to try to do that — you clicked your tongue, rolled your eyes like you wanted to stab him with a fork, then silently pulled it off and fixed it for him. He grumbled under his breath, as always, but didn't move a muscle while you smoothed it out. 

And when you tied your hair back with such rabid intensity that you gave yourself a headache halfway through lunch, he reached over the table without looking up from his phone, tugged the scrunchie loose with one hand, and shoved a protein bar into your other.

“Don’t pass out before five,” he muttered.

You didn’t even say thank you. 

You didn’t have to. The red string hummed for you.

And it was little things like that, really — like how you’d pick up his package when he wasn’t home, and he’d grumble and call you nosy, but then you’d find your favorite sour candy stuffed inside the handle of your apartment door.

Or how you’d snatch the umbrella from his hand because “You’re gonna get electrocuted holding metal near the power lines, stupid,” only for him to give you the umbrella in the morning again, saying it made your ridiculous frog print raincoat look less lonely.

You weren’t in love. Not yet. But you were on the road.

And sometimes, you swore you’d been on it before. Like the rhythm of this whole mess felt familiar, not just in this life.

Maybe once you were a dog and he was a cat, and you spent your days yowling and chasing each other up fences, knocking over trash cans in the name of something feral and tender. 

Maybe once you were thunder and he was a crooked old mountain, always meeting, always crashing, never quite learning the other’s shape but staying anyway.

Maybe once you were two flowers growing on either side of a forest, reaching for each other across centuries of sunlight. 

Maybe once you were nothing but stories told by firelight, over and over, in every tongue — about the fox who chased the wolf through storm after storm, until both of them finally curled up together under one tree.

And maybe, just maybe, it was always you and him, clawing and biting and bickering and loving.

Because now, in this life, here you were again.

In a train too crowded for comfort, someone’s armpit too close to your face, someone else’s elbow poking your spine, and yet you were standing on your tiptoes just to peer through the sea of heads, holding up your pinky so the string between you would tug. Not hard, just a little nudge.

And across the crowd, Sukuna turned.

He was pretending to read the ads above the windows, face bored, mouth twitching like he was already planning to insult your taste in shoes or how your hair looked like it lost a fight with the wind — but when he felt the tug, his gaze softened, just a little.

Then he looked at you. And without a word, he tugged back.

You smiled just a little, and the train rolled on.

Outside, the sun broke through the clouds like it had been waiting all morning.

Inside, the red string pulsed with something warm.

And for once — for maybe the thousandth time across a hundred lives — you wouldn't have it any other way.

[moondustbaby]

The Art Of Staying Quiet

blue collar!Rafe x sahm!Reader

cw: smut, piv, unprotected sex

mdni 18+

summary: It’s Saturday morning. The kids are watching cartoons. You’re trying to sleep. But Rafe’s hard, you’re soaked, and neither of you have the willpower—or the morals—to stop. You just have to be quiet. Easier said than done.

⸻

You’re barely awake when you feel it—his hand sliding up the hem of your sleep shirt, rough palm dragging warm and slow across the curve of your waist.

“Mm,” Rafe mumbles behind you, voice gravel-thick and raspy with sleep. “You up?”

“No,” you whisper, eyes still closed, body stretching lazily into his. You’re tucked against him, legs tangled under the covers, your ass snug to his hips.

And that’s when you feel it.

Hard. Warm. Pressed up against you through the thin barrier of your panties, his boxers doing nothing to hide the weight of his morning wood as he grinds, barely-there, against your backside.

Your eyes flutter open. The soft blue light of the TV flickers in the hallway.

“They’re watching cartoons,” you murmur, half laughing, half warning.

Rafe nuzzles into the back of your neck, stubble scratching, lips soft. “I know.”

“Door’s open.”

“I know.” Another slow roll of his hips. A quiet little moan huffs into your skin. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby…”

You sigh, heat pooling between your legs as his hand slides down, over the dip of your hip, curling possessively around your thigh.

“They’ll hear,” you whisper, biting your lip.

“Not if you’re quiet,” he murmurs, pushing your panties aside with one thick finger. “Can you be quiet for me, mama?”

God, the way he says it.

Like a reward and a promise all at once. Like he’s remembering last weekend when you were still sore and smiling hours later.

You nod—because yes, yes you can. You’ll be quiet. You’ll do anything if he just keeps doing this.

Rafe chuckles softly, low in his throat, and rocks against you again. “Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re already wet.”

“I was asleep,” you whisper, flushed.

He hums. “Guess your body missed me.”

He slides his hand between your legs, two fingers stroking slow over your slit. You twitch in his arms, breath catching, hips tilting back for more.

“Shh,” he teases, voice warm and wicked. “They’ll hear you.”

“Then stop teasing me.”

But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

He keeps you right there, squirming, barely touching you—just enough to make you crazy. His cock presses against your ass, his fingers drag lazy circles over your clit, and he murmurs in your ear about how good you feel, how soft you are, how much he wants to be inside you.

It’s torture.

And you love it.

“Rafe,” you whisper, needy and quiet and already so close you can’t believe it. “Please—fuck—just—”

He groans and tugs his boxers down just enough to free his cock, the tip dragging slick across your ass as he lifts your leg over his. “Stay quiet,” he warns again, voice dark now. “I’ll go slow.”

And he does.

He pushes in with one smooth roll of his hips, your heat welcoming him, your breath catching in your throat. You cling to the pillow, biting the corner of it to muffle the moan that nearly escapes.

Rafe exhales shakily behind you. “Goddamn.”

His hand slides under your shirt, palm splayed flat against your stomach. He holds you close, deeper with every thrust, buried to the hilt in your soaked cunt while your entire body burns with the need to make noise, to beg, to say his name.

But you don’t. You take it.

You rock back against him, matching the slow, filthy rhythm of his hips. You whimper into the sheets, thighs trembling, toes curling. Every stroke hits that sweet spot just right.

You know you’re going to come soon. You can feel it building, white-hot and aching at the base of your spine.

And so does he.

“Cum for me,” he pants, nose brushing your jaw. “Wanna feel it—wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You bury your face in the pillow, hips jerking, one hand flying down to press against your clit. It only takes a few circles before you break—silent but shaking, breath stuttering, walls clenching hard around him.

“Fuck, baby—” Rafe gasps, not bothering to hold back his moan. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. So fuckin’ tight—”

He thrusts once more, hard and deep, and then he’s spilling inside you, groaning your name like a prayer, hands gripping your hips tight as he pulses warm and thick into your core.

You both freeze for a moment, breathless, still tangled, still catching your breath.

In the hallway, the theme song of Paw Patrol starts playing.

You giggle.

Rafe groans into your neck. “We’re the worst parents.”

“You started it,” you whisper, smug.

He kisses your shoulder. “Worth it.”

You shift under the covers, wincing at the mess between your thighs. “I’m gonna leak on to the sheets.”

“I’ll wash ‘em later,” he mumbles, already reaching for a towel from the floor. “Just lay back. I got you.”

And you do. You let him take care of it. Let him clean you up with sleepy kisses and quiet I-love-you’s. Let yourself melt into the warmth of your bed while your kids keep watching cartoons in the living room like nothing happened.

Because this is what mornings are now.

Messy. Quiet. A little dangerous.

And full of love.

a/n: this fic is sponsored by early saturday morning horniness, the paw patrol theme song, and rafe’s inability to keep it in his pants when you’re wearing sleepy mama energy and no bra. this man would raw you between pbs kids commercial breaks. god bless him.

♥️ lani

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[little-diable]

Perverts - Negan (smut)

Requested by @earlgreydream for my Deadly Sins challenge. I love myself some Negan! Please like and reblog it you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Negan is always greedy for her attention, and no matter how much she tries to keep up her act around him, she’ll always give in to his touch.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, teasing Negan, greedy Negan, slight choking

Pairing: Negan x fem!reader (1k words)

He was greedy. Negan always had been. At first he’d been greedy for the attention of women in bars he went to when hiding away from Lucille. Then it had been his greed for power over the sanctuary. But now he was greedy for her, her attention, her taste, everything she would offer to him.

Negan’s eyes rested on her. She was focused on a book, undoubtedly feeling his eyes on her, but she wouldn’t give in. That much he knew by now. A smirk tugged on his lips as his eyes began to wander, taking in her naked legs, barely covered by the shirt she wore as she was sitting on the window bench she had built for herself.

“Will you keep staring at me or can I actually do something for you, old man?” The nickname forced a rough chuckle out of Negan. He stepped further into her room to close the door behind himself before he moved towards (y/n). She didn’t look at him, not as he stepped closer, not as he picked up her legs to sit down and to throw them over his lap.

“We both know you have a thing for older guys, doll, don’t lie to yourself.” Big hands began to wander, moving up her leg to stroke her soft skin. Goosebumps began to litter her skin as a shaky sigh left her, but she wouldn’t give in. With her eyes still focused on the book, she allowed his hand to move between her thighs, fingertips tracing the soft fabric of her panties.

“You’re too greedy for a man your age, Negan.” He clicked his tongue at her sharp words, using more strength to touch her. His eyes kept their focus on her face as he pushed her panties aside and felt the arousal covering her warm skin. Pride swam in his gaze, stretching itself through his body while (y/n) slowly sank further into the bench.

“Tell me about that book of yours, doll.” A whine left her at the feeling of his fingers circling her bundle of nerves. Negan watched her eyes flutter close for a second, high on the feeling of her attention. No matter how many wives he had, he never cared about their attention as much as he cared about (y/n)’s, fuelled by his greed for everything she offered to him.

“It’s,” she cleared her throat, hands tightening their grip on her book. “It’s a horror story. You’d like that one.”

Her head rolled back as he tugged on her ankles to pull her closer, allowing him to slowly fuck her with two fingers. Negan could barely remember the first time he’d ever touched her, years ago, but he was always high on the emotions tugging on her features. She was a work of art, made for his eyes only. He’d never share her, that much he was certain of.

“A horror story, eh? Didn’t peg you for the type to read what she’s already living through.” Her eyes flickered towards Negan for just a second. A moment that allowed them to wordlessly communicate. She placed the book down seconds before he pulled her into his lap, allowing (y/n) to feel his cock pressing against the zipper of his trousers.

“Negan,” she mewled his name, making him chuckle against her lips as he finally kissed her. The kiss was hot, fuelled by desire and the need to push one another over the edge as they’ve done numerous times before. Skilled fingers undid his belt and zip to grasp his hard cock, pumping him a few times while they kept kissing one another.

She shifted around to sink down on him, walls hugging him tightly. Both moaned into the kiss, high on the feeling of their bodies being united once again. It was a sensation Negan was all too used to, and yet sex never felt this special with his wives, it was all (y/n), all her, whatever she’d offer to him, all he was greedy for.

Big hands supported her rocking movements, making his cock press against her swollen spot to draw sighs and moans out of her. (Y/n) kept her eyes closed, not risking any distractions to keep herself focused on the orgasm she was desperate for.

The smell of his worn out leather jacket engulfed her, paired with the cologne he wore since they’ve crossed paths years ago. It was a mixture so perfect, she feared the smell alone could push her over the edge - but she wouldn’t allow something this simple to inflate his ego even more.

“Look at you, doll, no matter how much you try to act tough, your body will always betray you. You want me, you always do.” She moved faster, spurred on by his teasing words and the feeling of his fingers finding their way back to her puffy clit. Moans poured out of her, filling her bedroom while he let go of some groans himself.

Negan jerked his hips, forcing his cock deeper into her aching cunt to feel her clench him even tighter. He was mesmerized by her, by the warmth flushing through her body, the pleasure tugging on her features. It was a sight so perfect, he knew he wouldn’t be able to let go of her anytime soon.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her forehead fell against his shoulder, deeply inhaling his scent as she came around him. Negan kept moving her body, using her as an outlet for his need until he came. And with a deep groan, he fell over the edge and filled her with his cum.

“Christ, doll, if you keep fucking me like that, I’ll turn into a one pussy lover real quick.”

[dozybeez]

Practice Makes Imperfect (Pt. One)

A perfectionist ballerina struggles to find her rhythm-not just in her mandatory hip hop class, but in life itself. When she turns to Hoshi, a laid back hip hop major, he helps her see there is more to life than just structure and control.

→ part two coming soon

pairing: college au! kwon soonyoung x ballerina f!reader

word count: 2.1k

content warnings: slowish burn with eventual smut, internalized perfectionism, performance anxiety, academic and artistic burnout, emotional repression, subtle corruption kink, drugs and alcohol. MDNI

authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.

songs for this chapter:

- My Body Is a Cage by Arcade Fire

- Liquid Smooth by Mitski

You wake up before your alarm.

Not because you want to. You never want to. But because your body doesn’t know how not to obey the rules you’ve beaten into it. The light isn’t even up yet when your hand smacks the alarm off out of pure reflex. You’re already moving, already stretching your calves against the edge of your mattress like you’re warming up for war. In a way, you are.

You move through your morning like a machine. Hair in a bun. Breakfast by 6:00. Coffee black. Gym by 6:30. Run four miles. Stretch. Shower. Be on campus by 8:00 with enough time to revise yesterday’s math notes before your 9:00 a.m. class.

It’s exhausting, but it works. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You’re double majoring in Ballet and Mathematics. Most people can’t wrap their heads around it when you tell them. As if they’re opposite sides of the spectrum. But they’re not—not really. They both depend on precision. Repetition. Obedience. Structure. The ability to show your work and leave no room for interpretation.

People think ballet is art. Sometimes it is. But mostly, it’s numbers. It’s angles and physics and symmetry. It’s learning how to master your body so completely that it all becomes invisible to the audience. Seamless. Effortless. That’s the lie. That’s the goal.

You’ve been dancing since before you could spell your own last name. You don’t remember a version of yourself that wasn’t chasing perfection. That wasn’t stretching through injury, re-tying pointe shoes with shaking hands, staring into studio mirrors until your own reflection looked back at you like a stranger.

Everyone thinks you’re talented. What they don’t understand is that it’s not talent—it’s terror.

You don’t know how to be bad at something. You’ve never been allowed to be.

Your ballet instructor always said that if you have a backup plan, you’re already planning to fail. So you never told her about your math major. About the hours you spend calculating things no one will ever dance to. About the tiny voice in the back of your mind that keeps whispering: What if you don’t make it? What if all of this wasn’t enough?

You lug your backpack to every rehearsal even though everyone else just brings a water bottle and their shoes. But you can’t not bring it. You’d feel naked without it. Inside are your lecture notes, your meal plan, your backup charger, your vitamin C tablets, and three different highlighters. Control, contained in a zippered compartment.

There are no missed classes. No spontaneous nights out. No caffeine after 7 p.m. No social media during meals. Your calendar is color-coded and your playlists are sorted by tempo. You even schedule time to cry, though if it is a good day, you cancel.

It’s easier this way.

If you follow the rules, you won’t fall behind.

If you don’t fall behind, you won’t fail.

If you don’t fail, you won’t have to ask what happens next.

You’ll get the solo. You’ll join a company. You’ll make something of yourself before your body betrays you the way every ballerina’s body eventually does. That’s the plan. That has to be the plan.

There’s no room for error. No room for breaks. You’ve trained yourself out of both.

Because if you stop for even a second—everything might fall apart.

⸻

You’re not used to mirrors being this cruel.

In ballet, at least the reflection has grace. In hip hop, it just confirms what you already fear: you don’t belong here.

You’re not sure who thought it was a good idea to make Ballet majors take cross-disciplinary dance. Probably some sadistic department head who thinks exposure equals growth. Which is rich, considering all you’ve been exposed to this past hour is the fact that you move like a malfunctioning robot.

The music’s too loud. The mirrors are too honest. And your professor looks exhausted just watching you.

“Again,” she says, voice clipped.

You fall into the steps again—if you can call them that. Your limbs are tight, too calculated. You don’t bounce, don’t melt into the beat like the girl to your left does. You don’t ride the music, you choke it.

The routine ends. Everyone else is panting, laughing, high-fiving. You’re standing frozen in the mirror, jaw locked.

Your professor clears her throat. “You’re technically accurate. But there’s no flow. No rhythm. You’re… too stiff.”

The word lands like a slap.

Too stiff.

As if your body doesn’t understand what it’s being asked to do. As if discipline is a curse here instead of a gift.

You nod once, trying to swallow it down. You keep your face neutral, your spine straight. But something ugly starts crawling up your throat.

After class, you don’t talk to anyone. You shove your water bottle into your bag and speed-walk out of the studio before the tears can get any traction. It’s not even that you were the worst in the room—though maybe you were—it’s that for the first time in a long time, you felt exposed. Like the armor you’ve spent years building doesn’t work here.

⸻

You sneak back into the dance building by 10 that night before slipping into one of the vacant studios.

The lights are off, but you don’t bother turning them on. You need the quiet. The dark. The control. You shed your hoodie like muscle memory and begin putting on your pointe shoes, each movement clipped and clean. Your limbs are trembling, not from fatigue—but from something deeper. Something raw.

You throw yourself into the routine you’ve been rehearsing for months.

It’s a solo. Four minutes long. You’ve nailed it before—technique perfect, transitions seamless. But tonight, every step feels like a punishment. You slam into your fouettés too early. Miss your landing on the arabesque turn. There’s no audience, but your face flushes like there is.

You start over.

And again.

And again.

Each time harder. Tighter. You stretch until your legs scream. Force your body to obey until the pain pushes everything else out.

You dance until you can’t think.

You dance until the mirrors stop talking back.

You dance like perfection will undo the feeling of failure clawing at your chest.

Eventually, you collapse to the floor. Chest heaving. Eyes burning.

You tell yourself it’s just the sweat.

⸻

You weren’t planning to stay this late.

Your bones ached, your legs felt like jelly, and your calves had started screaming somewhere around the third hour. But you had a quiz the next morning and a ballet evaluation in two days, so your mind didn’t care how your body felt. You stayed. You always stayed.

It was a miracle you even remembered to eat.

Now, finally—finally—you were done. Kind of.

The studio clock blinked 12:47 AM in pale green. You were the only one left in the building, as usual. Just you and your exhausted reflection, slick with sweat and anxiety under the too-bright fluorescent lights.

You reached for your backpack—the one you dragged around like a safety blanket even to rehearsals. Inside was your laptop, your textbooks, and a perfectly organized stack of notes and assignments. You had submitted every paper on time, aced every test, and somehow still managed to keep your GPA intact. You didn’t allow yourself to slip, no matter how tired you were.

Because failure wasn’t an option.

Ballet helped. It always did. Or at least you told yourself it did.

For three hours, you’d been able to lose yourself in it. The lines, the form, the familiar ache of precision—each step like a prayer whispered under your breath. Your body remembered even when your mind didn’t. You didn’t have to think, you just had to obey. In the echo chamber of your movements, you could forget how humiliated you’d felt in hip hop class.

“You’re too stiff,” your professor had said earlier that day, not unkind but blunt, in front of everyone. “There’s no flow. You’re not letting the music move through you.”

Like your muscles were marble. Like your whole body had forgotten how to breathe.

The words clung to you all evening, even now, tucked into the corners of your shoulders like bruises. You knew he was right. You hated that he was right.

In ballet, you didn’t have to flow. You had to be exact. You had to hit every count with razor-edged sharpness. You could be a machine. You could be perfect.

So you stayed late.

Practiced harder.

Punished yourself, maybe.

Because you didn’t want to be bad at something. And if you couldn’t make yourself flow like the music wanted, you’d at least do what you knew: outwork the ache.

You didn’t even glance at the mirror before leaving. You already knew what you’d see.

The hallway was still, almost eerily so. The kind of quiet that makes you realize how loud your brain is. Your shoes scuffed softly against the tile, the only sound between the studios and practice rooms. You were already rehearsing a mental to-do list—shower, email Professor Greer, review unit circle identities, remember to check if the spring showcase had updated the cast list—

Then you heard it.

A low thump. Then another. Music.

Not piano. Not violin. Not anything meant for pliés and pirouettes.

It was deep and pulsing, like a heartbeat echoing through the building’s chest. You froze mid-step, your brows knitting as you tilted your head toward the sound.

It was faint, but rhythmic and you followed it.

The sound drew you past Studio A, past the empty dressing rooms and vending machines that hadn’t worked since freshman orientation. You hesitated as you neared the last door: Studio C.

The door was slightly ajar, just enough to let the music bleed out into the hallway. A shadow moved inside. Someone was still dancing.

You should’ve kept walking.

But your hand moved without thinking, fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe as you eased closer, careful not to make a sound. You peeked through the narrow crack.

And there he was.

Back to you. Shirt damp. Hair a mess.

His whole body moved like it was made of smoke and sound. Controlled chaos. You couldn’t look away.

Up close, he was… beautiful. But not in the polished, pristine way you were used to.

His dyed blonde hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty strands, the ends curling a little at the nape of his neck. His skin glowed under the studio lights, warm and flushed with exertion. A silver chain swung around his throat, catching light every time he moved. His black tank top clung to his toned frame—shoulders strong, arms cut and lean like he was built for this exact kind of motion.

And his legs—his whole stance—radiated confidence. Power that wasn’t rehearsed or clean. It was raw. Unapologetic. Loose.

You stared, transfixed, while your lungs forgot how to function. His body carved shapes through the air, and it was messy—but in a way that worked. He danced like he didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone thought.

God. What was that like?

You leaned closer without realizing it.

And then—he turned.

You hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t even breathed, but his head snapped toward the door like he’d felt you watching. His eyes landed directly on yours.

Time stopped.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared.

His chest rose and fell beneath the clinging fabric. Sweat glistened along his jaw. His mouth parted slightly in surprise—just enough to knock the air clean from your lungs.

Your entire body went rigid.

You stumbled backward, your bag thudding against your hip as your heart sprinted into your throat. You didn’t wait to see what he’d say. You didn’t want to know.

You turned.

And bolted.

Your steps echoed as you power-walked down the hallway, mortified and breathless, arms clutched tightly around your middle like you could somehow hold all your shame in. Your face burned. You didn’t stop until you were out of the building, into the night air, and halfway across the quad.

He’d seen you.

Worse—he’d caught you watching him.

You dragged your palms down your face and groaned into the dark. What the hell were you thinking?

But the image wouldn’t leave.

The way he moved. The beat pulsing beneath his skin. The look on his face when he saw you.

You lay in bed later, twisted in sheets and guilt, staring at your ceiling like it held answers.

But all your brain played was him.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop replaying that moment. Over. And over. And over.

You didn’t even know him.

But now you couldn’t get him out of your head.

⸻

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for this <3

[kxsagi]

also can u done one where isagi n his gf r making out and are about to do more but somebody interrupts them , like his mom or bachira

“𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝”

a/n: bachira so would

(art credits go to yuzu_blue58)

you're pressed against the couch, isagi hovering over you, his breath warm against your lips. the weight of his body, the way his hands grip your waist – it sends a thrill down your spine. his kisses are desperate, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, and honestly? same. 

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, earning a quiet groan from him that makes heat coil in your stomach. his lips leave yours just to trail down your jaw, then your neck, and you swear, if he keeps going like this – 

BANG! 

the door swings open, slamming against the wall. 

"ISAGI! ARE YOU HO – oh." 

you freeze. isagi freezes. 

bachira, standing in the doorway, stares at you both with wide eyes before his lips stretch into a downright evil grin. 

"no way, was i about to witness a live-action romance scene?" he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "i should’ve brought popcorn!" 

isagi practically throws himself off you, sitting up so fast he nearly knocks his head on the couch. "bachira, what the hell, man?!" 

"me?!" bachira snickers.. "you were about to defile our couch!" 

"it’s my couch!" isagi argues, face darker than a red card. 

"uh-huh, but i live here too, remember? roommates have rights!" bachira crosses his arms, looking way too entertained. "for example, the right not to walk in on my best friend about to get freaky on the furniture!" 

you groan, covering your face while isagi looks like he’s about to combust. 

bachira grins. "don’t let me stop you guys! i can turn around and hum a tune if that helps –" 

"GET OUT!" isagi grabs a pillow and launches it at bachira’s face. 

bachira, laughing like a maniac, dodges easily. "i know you wanna be ~ in my B.E.D. ~" he sing-songs before dashing out the door, making sure to leave it wide open behind him. 

you sigh, sitting up. "... so much for the mood." 

isagi groans, flopping back onto the couch. "i hate him so much." 

"no, you don’t." 

"right now, i do." 

you chuckle, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "we’ll just have to make sure the door is locked next time." 

isagi sighs, pulling you back into his arms. "yeah. next time, no interruptions." 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[beiibeiii]

theres no one left to blame but me

husband!arlecchino x wife!reader wlw smut

a long awaited and requested continuation / part 2 of cold nights !

tw : fluff/comfort, soft-ish arle, happy ending :), she apologies, rushed smut near the end, service top-ish arle, arle has a cock, angsty near the start, little bit of crying out of relief?, icl there is so much filler, not proof read, sorry this took ages to post sob

art creds : nuiilar on twt

6.3k words

the morning after, your eyelids flutter open. the sunlight was peeking through the curtains, onto the white bedsheets. you feel disoriented and completely out of it. you found yourself in a warm, comfortable bed. a contrast to where you remember you rested last night. you found yourself in your shared room.. except, it hadn't really been shared at all lately. as memories of last night start to cloud your mind, you immediately sit up and turn to your right.

to your disappointment, the other side of the bed was empty.. as usual. you feel like a fool for getting your hopes up. the fact she was too prideful enough to show her face to you, made your already existing pit of emptiness dig deeper into you heart. or so thats what you thought.

perhaps it was because you had drained most of your sorrows out last night.

with an exhausted sigh you ran a hand through your hair as your head lowered to idly stare down at the covers. the bedsheets were intoxicated with arlecchino's sickening cologne, even though she hadn't even been here in a while. her cologne made your head spin. you furrow your eyebrows as you sat in the dark room. your eyes glance at the clock on the bedside table. it was 6:17am. arlecchino would of left around an hour ago already..

shame, she didn't even leave a note or anything to apologise.

you don't feel like doing anything today. you just wanted to stay in bed and drown yourself in your worries for the whole day. you feel your lips curl into a frown knowing you will probably have to continue the day alone again. you force yourself off the cozy bed. your legs feel shaky.. you feel light headed as your vision blurs into momentary darkness as you stood up. god, had she really affected you that much? .

you lightly swing the door open and hazily walk into the long hallway. the hallway seemed to stretch on far more than you recalled it to. your eyes glaze over memorable photos of you and arlecchino etched onto the wall. golden frames bordering the beautiful person arlecchino used to be. you pass down the gallery of these, now, lost memories, the connection of these precious memories you used to hold so close to your heart, now feels like a lost, distant dream you yearn for.

you felt nauseous as reality dawns upon you. the truth weighing down into your already crushed heart. the memories flooding into you all at once did no good for you. each photo carried a different, loving memory from when arlecchino was genuinely.. peruere.

your head ached from the overload of contrasting feelings. the passion she once invested in you had vanished along with her love for you, it seemed. the flames she bares that once ignited your vulnerable heart, is forever extinguished. the arlecchino you once knew and loved, had faded into the chambers of her own cold, restricted heart. you couldn’t recognise her anymore.

you lazily dragged yourself down the stairs to avoid any signs of her. as you do, you could smell pancakes being cooked in the kitchen. you assume it's just another house maid. you tiredly walk in with your head lowered, not bothering to look up to see who it was, as you had already, mentally, came up with your final verdict.

you sit in the dining room, just passing kitchen and whoever was in there. you were too clouded to even bother figuring out who it was. you rest your elbow on the table and your chin in your palm. your eyes casted down on the table. suddenly, a small stack of pancakes with no toppings on them whatsoever was slid in front of you. you knew exactly who it was.

arlecchino's gaze rolled over your face as she slid you the plate. her eyes narrowed, they were still as cold as ever. she knew you clearly hadn't had a good night of sleep. your expression was weary and your face puffy. a sharp pang of remorse took ahold of her once more. she couldn't bare to see the sight of you, completely drained of all happiness, because of her. she knew she couldn't drag this on any longer.

she gently place the silverware on the side of the plate. you noticed the gleam of her ring shining under light for a moment. your eyebrows furrow slightly. she wore the ring you brought her. it gave you a slight sense of relief. yet you still don't dare to look at her face. not yet at least.

"good morning, my dear." her voice echoed slightly through the dining room.

you purse your lips at her words. you can't bring yourself to say 'good morning' back. if it were a good morning, then you would probably still be in bed in her arms. your gaze doesn't wander away from the pancakes in front of you. you feel as she pulls away from behind you to take a seat in front of you with her own plate of pancakes. arlecchino subtly glances at you before taking a bite of her warm, plain pancakes. the silence was deafening. it only raised the tension in the air. deciding to break the ice, she spoke again. her expression was neutral.

"i made pancakes.." she mused once more, as if she wasn't stating the obvious. she really didn't know how to initiate a conversation with you. especially after last night.

you could tell in her voice she was trying hard. you felt your heart pick it's self up at the thought of her attempt to make breakfast and start a conversation. you didn't want to keep being mad at her. hell, you weren't even supposed to be mad at her to begin with. you decided to nod after a long pause of silence. picking up your utensils to start eating the plain pancakes.

despite all of that, you still didn't have the courage to look her in the face.

before you knew it, you both had already finished eating. you didn't want to admit it but you missed her cooking. even if it was plain and tasteless. you both hadn't exchanged a word once. arlecchino couldn't take it anymore. she didn't want to see this distraught look on your face any longer. she leans over the table, her hand firmly, yet so gently, lifting your chin up.

"please, look at me. i cannot stand seeing you like this.." your breath hitches quietly at her sudden action. her words have a hint of softness and desperation in them. her gaze is as firm yet as gentle as her touch. your eyes gaze into her crossed pupils. you find yourself lost in her iris. mesmerising you.

"arle.." you utter quietly under your breath.

"let me make it up to you." she almost pleads. her eyebrows are furrowed, taking in all of your beautiful features. she had to admit, it had been a while since she last saw you properly and so close like this. you feel your throat tighten, her words tugging at your heart strings.

you don't know whether to trust her words anymore. especially after she had been hanging around that new fatui recruit recently. her hand falls from your chin yet your head still stays up to look at her. her rough, blackened hands hold your soft ones. firmly giving it a little squeeze.

"i was wrong. let me take you out to dinner tonight. i promise, i will discard any worries you have." her voice wasn't soft, but nor was it cold. you knew she was never good with expressing her emotions. you feel weary of her proposal. the cool ring you had brought for her was against your hand. the gentle look in her eyes make you give into her pleads. you hesitantly replied after a moment of contemplation.

"okay. i.. will let you take me out for dinner." you reply quietly. your gaze lowering in slight embarrassment. now you really couldn't back out of this. she nods as she hums in response. getting out of her seat to carefully pull you out of your seat. embracing your body in her warm arms, pushing your head against her chest. the smell of her cologne was more prominent than ever.

you felt relief course through your body. the scene of her no longer sickened you. your hands cling onto the t-shirt she's wearing, squeezing the fabric as you feel tears starting to be forced out of your eyes again. her hands reassuringly stroke your hair, her fingertips getting lost in each strand.

"i apologise, my dear. i was wrong." she whispers softly yet hesitantly. all tension that was in the air had disappeared. arlecchino doesn't know if she's comforting you correctly. the feeling just felt so foreign to her. in all honesty, it hurt her to see you like this. she wanted to take your pain away from you. she lets you cry it out in her chest. whispering sweet things every so often. constantly alternating between tangling her fingers in your hair and rubbing comforting circles on your back.

she just hoped her actions were able to get her message, that she cares about you, across to you more than her words are.

soon, the evening came around a lot quicker than you had expected. it had been a while since you've had to doll yourself up to look good for arlecchino. you enjoyed having an excuse to dress up every so often. you decided to put on a elegant white dress and heels on for tonight, hoping to take that stupid, nee fatui recruit off her mind.

arlecchino was already outside, waiting for you as she leaned against her expensive, sleek car. she had dressed up in a elegant suit with small chains in between the buttons. she had a crimson red waistcoat and of course her ridiculous heels. in her arms was a beautiful bouquet of roses. she was mentally hoping she was doing everything right, that she wouldn't say or do anything wrong.

not soon after, as you leave your residence, you are greeted by arlecchino. your breath hitches the second you laid eyes on her, she looked so handsome.. the way she was fiddling around with the roses just to make sure they're perfect. the way she leans against the car. every little thing about her was so captivating. at last, you see her look up at you, slowly walking towards you with that confident stride. god you were absolutely ravishing. she leans down slightly and takes your hand. her rough hand firmly brings your contrasting one to her soft lips, placing a gentle kiss on it. she gazes up at you through her eyelashes. you feel heat rush to your cheeks immediately.

"you look stunning my dear. here, roses, for you." she muses against your hand, keeping her voice even. fuck. you looked so pretty, all dolled up just for her. you feel her light breath against your knuckles before she pulls away, standing back up straight. towering over you as she hands you the perfect bouquet of roses you've ever seen. carefully you take them out of her hands, smiling lightly as you inhaled the floral smell.

it was as if time slowed down. a gentle breeze of the evening air brushed across your faces. arlecchino's lips parted as her gaze softened ever so slightly. she feels all signs of doubt leave her body. the tips of her ears were heating up at your gorgeous smile, no matter how much she tried to hold it back. thankfully for her, her ears were covered by her hair. she hadn't seen your beautiful smile for so long. it wasn't until now she had realised how much she had missed it.

"thank you. you look so beautiful too arle.." you smiled softly. you felt as if you could forgive her already. you hugged the roses carefully in your arms. they smelt good. you noticed how the corner of her lips twitched ever so slightly. how her gaze had also softened. you hadn't seen that look in a while. arlecchino, on the other hand, felt warmth she hadn't felt in a while, bubble up within her chest. deep inside, she felt like a giddy teenager falling for you for the first time all over again. she quickly pulls herself together, clearing her throat.

"come on, we wouldn't want to be late, would we?" she states, wrapping a arm around you waist, walking you to her expensive car. she opens the door for you graciously, urging you to get in first.

you mumbled a small "thank you" to which she replies with a nod. you blush softly at the small yet thoughtful action. she was so.. gentlemanly. arlecchino had such a charming personality, it was drawing you in. you hear as she closes the door on you and makes her way to the drivers seat. the seats were luxurious, made of dark red leather.

her beautiful hands made their way to the steering wheel. the engine roared as it pulled out of the driveway. her attention constantly, yet subtly divided between the road and you. she couldn't help but steal glances towards you from time to time. you looked utterly gorgeous tonight. her predatory gaze would always wander to your beautiful legs, perfectly exposed when you're wearing a dress. before immediately sticking to the road. no. she couldn't be thinking of such things. she had to properly make it up to you first.

the car ride in general was quiet. it was a comforting yet pleasant silence. you didn't mind it. you looked out the window, watching the city go past you. the shadows of tall skyscrapers and light, emitting from lit up buildings, towering over the city, flicker onto the car. giving it a beautifully shadowed hue.

it wasn't soon before arlecchino drove into a car park of an expensive looking restaurant. it was one you knew people waited over months just to get an reservation. the car comes to an stop. arlecchino gives you a soft glance before she got out of the car. walking over to open the door for you. her hand extended out to you with a gentle yet firm gaze. you smile softly as you take her hand. getting out the car. she keeps her hand in yours, leading you into the luxurious restaurant.

as arlecchino led you into the restaurant, she noticed the going quieter than it was before. everyone there looking at the two of you. numerous whispers and glances were spilling around the groups of people. you could tell that they were looking at you, of course. you looked beautiful in your dress, you were like eye candy. most people also recognised arlecchino, the knave. wondering why she was here with such a pretty girl.

arlecchino didn't bother to act polite in front of other people. she gave the patrons a cold, vicious glare as they looked in your direction. she didn't like it. she didn't like how everyone's eyes were all on you. you were hers and she was yours. arlecchino could almost feel the anxiousness imploding your mind currently. her arm wrapping around your waist firmly once more. pulling you in closer to her, as if telling everyone who you belonged to.

"just ignore them. they don't matter." she mumbles lowly into your ear, as if trying to reassure you. you let a quiet breath, you didn't know you were holding, out at her words. you stop tensing up and relax as you feel her hands squeeze your waist subtly.

as the gazes of the other patrons disperse, arlecchino makes her high status known, just by an glance from the waiters. the restaurant's staff instantly catered to her high status, treating her with upmost respect and almost fear. you two are instantly escorted to the table. it was next to a breathtaking view of the sunset. as the sun's rays fell upon your skin, it accentuated your beauty, making your face glow. arlecchino could not pull her eyes off of you. she was absolutely captivated by you. you were absolutely gorgeous..

as the two of you settle into your seats, menu's are handed out as the waiter leaves you for some time alone. arlecchino glazes over the menu. carefully reading over everything. in her mind, she hopes this dinner will be able to clear most things up. her eyes glanced up at you, who was also reading the menu. she was determined to make this dinner meaningful and memorable for you. she wanted to make up to you. no, she had to.

"order anything you fancy, my dear." arlecchino said before taking a glance back at the menu.

"alright.. thank you, arle." your lips curl in a light smile. eventually the two of you ordered drinks and food. arlecchino ordering a steak tartare and you just a steak yourself. the two of you ordered red wine. arlecchino made sure to watch your alcohol intake. arlecchino could always handle her alcohol really well, but you, on the other hand, was quite a light drinker. she didn't want you to get wasted.

she lifts her glass of wine. "cheers?" she pushes her glass towards you.

"cheers!" you laugh out softly at her slight awkwardness. your glasses made a small clink. you see the small, reassured smile on her face as you both take a sip. you feel the expensive liquid burn your throat. arlecchino watched as you downed your wine with a smile. she could tell that the alcohol was already starting to ease you up. that's good. it only meant you're enjoying yourself and she has fewer chances to mess things up.

"wow.. it's really good." you muse, your gaze relaxed. there seemed to not be as much tension as before. when she noticed your gaze relaxed, she took it as a sign that things were turning out alright. arlecchino was relieved.

"of course, only the best for you, my love." she murmurs back. her voice has a softer edge to it now. her hand reaching over to yours. placing it on top of your hand lovingly. you feel your gaze soften more in awe at her affection. it had been a while since she had treated you so well like this.

she lowers her gaze momentarily. her lips parting before closing back up again. god she didn't know how to start. she had to stop avoiding her thoughts and apologise already.

"i.. apologise again, for my actions lately." she stammers out suddenly. she looks at you right in the eyes as she says this. you know she was being sincere.

"i shouldn't of forgotten such an important date like our anniversary and neglected you for such a long period of time." she pauses momentarily. her eyebrows furrowing as she pulls her thoughts together. trying to get the sting of words bundled up in her throat right out. the sight of your crying again broke her heart. she never wanted to see you cry, because of her ever again. her hand squeezes yours subtly.

"moreover, that fatui recruit.. she means nothing to me. i mean it. you deserve nothing but pure happiness. and i promise, i will do everything, and anything for you because i love you. more than i can ever explain." her words are firm and gentle. you feel your heart warm up at her words. you knew she never liked to speak up, she was prideful and was never good with her words. you couldn't be angry at her any longer.

"arle.. just.. promise you won't do it again." you reply softly. your eyebrows furrowed still, in slight uneasiness until she confirms it herself. her words were most definitely touching your heart. her words were so genuine.

she brings your hand up to her face. your hand cupping the side of her cheek lightly. "i swear on the tsarita's name, my love." she replies with an gentle tone. her eyes were glazing into yours. arlecchino knew that she was practically begging for forgiveness right now, and she hated it. buy she wants your forgiveness, she needs your forgiveness. seeing you so upset, hurts her more than anything.

your breath hitches at her sudden gesture. her face was so warm, her skin milky soft. god she was breathtaking right now.

"i.. forgive you, arle." you breathe out. you feel all tension leave your body. you can feel your own heart beating again. thumping hard against your chest. you feel like you've fallen in love with her for the first time all over again.

"thank you, my love. i don't deserve you." she whispers softly against your palm. her body visibly relaxes. she feels her heart flutter in her chest. her ears heating up again. she hadn't fucked everything over in the end. she was so afraid of losing you after that night. she can never let things get that bad ever again.

unfortunately for the both of you, your intimate moment was cut short when a waiter arrived with your meal, much to arlecchino's annoyance. shame.. arlecchino wanted to bask in your forgiveness and sweet words just a little longer. you pulled your hand away, feeling embarrassed that the waiter had seen how close you were with her. you hoped you hadn't made arlecchino seem soft. not that she actually minded it.

your eyes widened in awe at the food placed onto the wooden table. it looked absolutely delicious. it smelt amazing. it was of high quality and was luxurious. the harbinger couldn't help but feel a slight irritation that your tender and heartfelt moment was ruined. she would much rather be lost in your eyes and touch right now. but she couldn't stay mad, especially when she saw the adorable look on your face.

once you thanked the waiter with a sweet smile and arlecchino with a stoic nod, they left. as we picked up the utensils, arlecchino glanced at me once more.

"i hope the meal is up to your standards, my dear."

and oh god it was. the rich flavours of the steak was literally melting on your tongue. taking sips of alcohol in between. the two of you had a nice conversation. you hadn't had that in a while. it felt like you were catching up on her life despite living together.t wasn't soon before you were finished with your meal. arlecchino would just nod, setting the napkin down saying something along the lines of "not bad. would be better without these.. complex seasonings."

it wasn't long before found yourself inebriated with alcohol despite how much arlecchino limited your alcohol intake. your cheeks were slightly flushed red. your eyes half lidded with that small pouty look on your face. your words would slur and you would sway side to side in your seat. trying, what seemed to be your best, to sit up straight in your seat. you would babble on about random topics.

arlecchino watched you quickly fall under the influence. sighing out with a small smile. completely adoring your drunken self. what an 'handful' for arlecchino to deal with..

arlecchino practically dragged you out your seat and into her arms. helping your drunken self stumble out the restaurant. her hand was on your waist firmly as she helped you into the car. everything was a blur. your mind was clouded and you felt all floaty. by the time you both reached the front door, you were already heavily leaning on her, having trouble walking straight alone. arlecchino helped you to the bed. your felt your body lightly laid you down onto the soft covers of the bed.

you were mumbling and giggling, completely drunk. she found you absolutely endearing in this state. she smiled faintly as she pushed some strands of hair out your face. god you looked heavenly right now. your silky hair was sprawled out on the bed. your lips were slightly parted with your head tilted to the side a little. your half lidded eyes gazing drunkly into her sober ones. the red streak of blush across your face only accentuated your drunkness.

"come on, let's get you to bed-" she mumbles before getting cut off by you tugging her down by her collar. your faces so close together. arlecchino's breath hitches at your sudden action and the sudden closeness.

"arle.. wan' you.. to apologise in.. another way.." you slur out quietly. your eyebrows furrowing. you are completely out of it. you sloppily lift your hips to lightly and not to subtly grind on hers.

oh.. she gets the hint. she feels her ears and cheeks heat up some more now. she feels her dick harden in her pants. she feels so.. tight and restricted. the air was so hot in here. one of her hands find their way to the side of your hips and lightly push them down. trying to be reasonable with your drunken self.

"dear, your drunk, you need to sleep-" arlecchino is cut off once more when you pull her head down to smash her lips on yours. arlecchino groans against your hips. she knows you want this and now she does too. her tongue enters your mouth as you let out a small muffled moan, your eyes fluttering closed. her lips were so soft. her lips made you feel more dizzier than you already were. her hands run down your back, feeling the smooth fabric of your dress underneath her fingertips. she reaches up to the zipper and pulls it down with sudden urgency.

she pulls her lips away, leaving you both breathless. she doesn't waste another second, tugging the dress off of you. her eyes roam all over your body hungrily. your eyelashes flutter open. in your hazy vision you see arlecchino drinking in the sight of you in your lace undergarments. her self-control snapping at the sight of that lace on your body

"all this for me? such a eager girl.." she smirks. you feel heat rush up to your core. you subtly rub your thighs with a whine. needing her so badly right now.

"tell me what you want sweet girl.. i'm all yours tonight.." she mumbles lowly into your ear.

"need you.. now.. pleaseeee.." you huff out. she could feel the heat pooling between her legs as you huff out those words. you looked so beautiful and sensual begging for her, it was driving her crazy. she knows she should be nice to you today, so she gives you want you want. she dips down to your neck, hungrily biting down and sucking sweetly on your neck. eliciting light moans from your throat. she leaves a trail of light red marks down your neck. losing the last bit of restraint she had.

her fingers carefully unclasp your bra. her hands moving swiftly to slide the lace off of you in anticipation. your tittys were hard, just for her. you shiver slightly at the coldness. arlecchino sucks in a breath at the sight of your. undressing herself quickly and leaving herself in her boxers. you could see the massive buldge ready to get out of the confides of her boxers. her abs were more prominent in the dark lighting. god she was so hot.

"so beautiful.." arlecchino's tone of voice is throaty and quiet. she leans in and wraps her lips around your nipple. you let out a quiet breath, moaning sweetly. your body was so sensitive from alcohol. arlecchino's actions barely registering in your mushy mind.

her other hand pinches and rolls and pulls on your other nipple in between her fingers. making the pleasure so much higher. she sucks on your nipple sweetly, relishing your moans before pulling away. her hand slowly slides down your body, her touch tracing a trail of fire on your skin. she can feel your body shiver slightly under her touch, becoming more desperate every second.

her hand dips down to your clothed cunt. you were absolutely soaked for her. she rubs her thumb on where your clit is. making your hips spasm and lean into her. your eyes fluttering closed as she forces a hoarse moan from you.

"stop.. eat me.. out already.." you whine out desperately. she smirks, complying with your needs and pulls your spoiled underwear aside. her hands hold your thighs and open them. keeping them open firmly as her long, wet muscle gives a long lick to your wet hole so.. slowly. making you shiver against her. your thighs wanting to close around her head.

"stop.. teasing.." you whine out drunkly. your hand finds their way to her head as you push her head into your cunt. you feel her lips curl up as her tongue enter your warm walls. she feels your walls spasms around her tongue. making her groan into your cunt. an vibrating hit your pussy as you throw you head back in pleasure.

"f-faster arle.." you huff out, your word slurring, in pleasure. your grip on her hair is weak in your sensitive drunk state. her nose nudges against your clit so perfectly.

she picks up the pace, devouring your pussy with her mouth. her tongue pumping in and out of your tight hole. making loud slurping noises and you push her head unto your pussy more.

"n..ngh.. more..!" you pant out, your breath shaky, rolling your hips into her mouth more. arlecchino obeys, shoving her face deeper into you. her nose buried into your folds as she sucks and eats your cunt. her hands move from your thighs to your folds and lightly pull them apart. giving her better access to your dripping hole. your thighs squeeze against her head in desperation. arlecchino groans at the feeling, against your wet cunt as she grinds her cock into the bed. fuck she so was desperate but your needs came first.

you pornagraphic moans only fuel her drive more. the way you tugged on her hair closer to you, only turned up the intensity of your pleasure more. you feel like your on cloud nine right now, feeling that coil in your stomach form. "close..!" you'd pant out, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"go on then, pretty girl.." arlecchino's lip curl up into a smile against your pussy. you let out a high pitched moan, smashing her face into your cunt and your thighs squeeze her head as your orgasm washes over you. arlecchino felt your pussy clenching around her tongue and trembling against her mouth, your cum gushing out in streams. she groans at the cum all over her face, lapping it right up before pulling away with a string of saliva on her tongue. her chin absolutely dripping in your release.

she has a light smirk on her face, clearly pleased with your orgasm, as she wipes your release on her arm. you feel all light headed after you came, the alcohol influencing you for more. arlecchino pulled her boxers down, her massive cock springing out and slapping against her stomach. fuck, she was absolutely leaking with pre-cum. you looked at her cock in awe. arlecchino kisses you sweetly, you could taste yourself on her tongue. her erection was hard, poking right into your thigh.

she pulls away, gently pushing a strand of hair in your face out the way. gazing into your half lidded eyes.

"i'll go slow.. tell me how you'd like it, okay?" she mumbles softly. you nod, letting out a small hum of agreement.

"theres my girl.." she trails off, holding her cock in her hand as she rubs it all over your wet slit. smearing your wet juices all over her, coating her cock in your cum. your pussy twitches at her rubbing her cock all over you. she peppers sweet kisses on your forehead as she starts to push her hard cock into your tight little hole slowly. her thick cock spreads your walls apart, sinking deeper into your soaked cunt. she groans, "come on.. relax.." feeling your walls flutter around her at the intrusion, clenching down on her.

you let out little mewls. she was just so.. big. you felt stuffed to the brim. your eyes flutter shut as her thumb comes in contact with your clit. rubbing your little bundle of nerves to loosen your cunt up. your walls spasm against her length as she rubs on your clit. immediately loosening yourself up as she pushes the rest in, lightly in one fluid motion. you felt your vision turn white for a second as your hips snapped together. arlecchino lets out a deep growl at how your gummy walls pulse around her. you felt her cock spear your pussy, pressing right up to your cervix. you were so stretched out by her.

you find yourself trying to catch your breath as arlecchino whispers sweet things to you. telling you how good you are for her and how well your doing. she allows you to adjust to her massive size for as long as long as you need to. after a short while, you give her a small nod as you start to get used to her girth.

"i'm going to move now, alright?" she mumbles lowly yet sweetly, her hands holding your hips firmly as she pulls back. her hips part from yours before she slowly rocks her hips. thrusting in and out of your warm walls. you let out a shaky breath at her size and how she hit the right spots so effortlessly. she growls, it took everything to hold back her urge to just throw your legs over her shoulder and pound you to oblivion. god she was so compliant, taking you slowly, just as she promised, just like the good husband she wants to be.

her pace picks up to a bearable one. her fat cock brushes your cervix so easily, the sounds of her grunts and the sound of skin slapping sounded so good. your eyebrows furrow in pleasure when she hits your good spot, she notices this, continuously pumping her cock into it. arlecchino starts to lose her restraint, her hands on your hips tighten as her pace picks up some more. her breath starts getting ragged. the room smelled like sex, your drunken self already had your brains fucked out. she starts thrusting with more fervour, the intense slapping of skin was heard. your walls spasm around her fat cock at the filthy sounds.

you get breathless, arlecchino elicit high pitcher moans from your throat. her relentless pace too much for your drunken self to handle. after some struggle, your arms find their way to her back. your hands grip onto her back, your nails scratching into her back leaving red scratches into her toner back. she grunts at the stinging sensation, turning her on.

"slow.. ngh.. down arle..!" you whine out. your vision starts to cloud in darkness momentarily. she looks up at your pleasured face through her eyelashes and her rough, ruthless pace was now at an slower, loving pace. her grip on your hips loosen. arlecchino knows your close from how your walls are so beautifully squeezing her.

"come on, come with me pretty girl.." she groans out in pleasure. as you feel your orgasm wash over, arlecchino pushes herself to the hilt, cumming deep inside of you. you hold her tight, letting out a erotic moan. you was sure enough it was loud enough for the rest of the house maid's finishing up to hear. arlecchino watched as your stomach, full of your mixed cum, bloats. she pumps a few more strokes into you with intentions of fucking her cum straight into your womb.

"so good for me.." she mumbles, kissing your lips gently. you let out small muffled mewls, before she pulls out, pulling away as your your cum is oozing out your pussy. god, what a pretty sight it was. you feel dazed, panting and catching your breath, as you stare up into the ceiling on the brink of passing out from pleasure and the alcohol.

arlecchino helps clean yourselves up, changing the sheets before pulling you into her warm embrace. your head was buried in her neck, your bare bodies pressed against each other. it felt nice, you hadn't felt like this in a while. you found yourself not thinking about anything else, too drunk and blissed out to do so. only barely listening to her praises and the feeling of her peppering kissed on your face and drawing circles on your back. it was easier to fall asleep with her by your side.

"did so well for me hm?" she mumbles lowly with a light smile. arlecchino missed this warmth and the intimacy you two used shared frequently. she watches as you fall asleep in her arms cozily. watching your face in the pure bliss of sleep. usually, on any other day, you would find yourself awake the next morning, alone on a cold bed. but not tonight, or any other night from today forwards, for she will be by your side, embracing your body. the next morning, you will find her hugging you, waking up with you, like a loving husband she wants to be. she promises to treat you so well, with everything she has.

you were to use her, command her and cast her aside. use her as your blade. for she, will always be yours.

these nights, were no longer classed as cold nights.

not anymore.

[demensrage]

l for lustful adventure ⚊ •. with shoyo hinata

summary: a fun anniversary adventure unleashes the most primitive desires between you. a lustful adventure that you are not willing to deny, there will be put into scenes what was never said between you.

cw: established relationship, dom! hinata, sub! reader, spanking, fingering, oral (m. receiving), overstimulation, unprotected, rough sex, creampie, thight riding, blindfold play.

word count: 9k 💀

© demensrage 2024. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

You knew how beautiful Brazil was from the constant photos your husband had sent you, but seeing it with your own eyes is a delight that the images can’t capture. Everything looks so vibrant: the sky with an incomparable blue, the lush green plants lining the streets, and the warm sun that caresses your skin with an intensity unknown in Japan. The hustle and bustle of people, the aroma of fresh fruits and coffee floating in the air, and the contagious laughter of street vendors remind you that you’ve crossed the world to a culture where life seems to pulse in every corner.

Now you understand why Hinata had fallen in love with this place, why he spoke about it with so much emotion, why he wanted you to enjoy it too. And now you were there beside him, two weeks into your arrival, and you simply couldn’t get enough of the landscape. A few days weren’t enough to enjoy the wonders of this beautiful country, which is why it was easy to convince him to spend more time there. Your third wedding anniversary was fast approaching, and that was always a good excuse.

The first two weeks were spent enjoying São Paulo, immersing yourselves in its vibrant urban life, exploring the street art in Vila Madalena, the unmatched flavors of the Municipal Market, and the hustle and bustle of downtown. Now, you were ready for the next adventure: Rio de Janeiro. What you longed for most was to see the Christ the Redeemer statue, the imposing guardian of the city that, even in photos, seemed to convey a deep peace. You wanted to see for yourself if its grandeur was as real as it seemed.

You both decided that driving would be a great idea. This way, you could enjoy every stop for food or simply pause to admire the view. The winding road offered captivating landscapes; green mountains contrasting with the blue sky and the emerald sea that seemed to stretch endlessly. You carried your camera, ready to capture every moment and every special corner. From the small towns along the way, each with its own charm, to the street vendors offering sweets and guaraná sodas.

The trip itself was an adventure. The landscapes changed with each stretch of road, and every stop had its unique magic. Sometimes, you both would get out of the car just to feel the warm breeze or enjoy a fresh fruit bought from a roadside vendor. There was something about that road trip that made each kilometer feel like a small victory, a conquest of memories and shared experiences.

You remembered how hard it had been to stay together despite the distance. Hinata was in Brazil for his training, focused on reaching his dreams as a professional player, while you stayed in Japan, clinging to your studies, so close to finishing university that quitting wasn’t an option. The nights were especially tough; the time difference and the absence of his voice made the emptiness feel deeper.

However, you found a way to cope. Every morning, you woke up to a message from him, telling you how he woke up in Brazil, talking about his training, how the weather and the language were a constant challenge, but also his excitement about being so close to fulfilling his dreams. Sometimes, the messages came with spontaneous photos: one of him with his teammates, another of a typical Brazilian dish he was trying for the first time, or one of the urban landscape surrounding him.

For your part, you sent him pictures of the corners of the university, the notes you hated so much, and the books that seemed endless. These small routines became your refuge, reminding both of you that, although you were separated by thousands of kilometers, your lives were still shared in those little details.

All that effort, every sacrifice, and every day of waiting had been worth it. In the last game of the season, when everything was set for him to come home with you, Hinata decided to dedicate the final shot to you, sealing the victory in your name. The emotion overwhelmed you; despite the struggles to arrive on time, the flight delays, and the anxiety of a lost suitcase, you had made it just in time. The language barrier complicated everything, but nothing mattered at that moment. From the stands, your eyes met his, and in that instant, you knew he had seen you. With that unmistakable spark in his gaze, he made the shot that would define the game… and won it for you.

The stadium erupted in cheers, but for him, it wasn't enough; no, Hinata always had to celebrate in grand style. So, with his heart pounding a thousand beats per minute and emotions running high, he ran toward you in the stands, weaving through his teammates and the crowd until he reached you. He took your hand without hesitation, and, amidst applause and astonished gasps, he knelt down. "Will you marry me?" he asked, his eyes shining and a smile that disarmed you. The proposal echoed in the stadium, and in that moment, the whole world seemed to stop. You said yes, between laughter and tears, and you were the happiest woman in that crowded place because he, your Hinata, had made that victory a double one: he had won the game and also your heart forever.

Now, as you enjoyed this trip, you felt that every moment by his side was a new opportunity to create lasting memories, moments that, over the years, would fill your life with stories to tell. You were ready to enjoy his company in every stage of life, even when youth faded and the years brought new adventures.

As Hinata helped you take the bags out of the car, the golden light of the sunset wrapped everything around you, and although the city's sound was constant, you paused for a moment to absorb the view of the hotel. The horizon stretched out before you, with the sea reflecting the last rays of the sun and the mountains in the distance, like a perfect painting. You felt fortunate because this trip, like so many others to come, wasn’t just about the places you’d visit, but about what you shared on the journey.

Hinata approached you, noticing you had become still, and with a tender smile, he took your hand. "Do you like the view?" he asked, with the calmness that only he could convey. "Yes," you answered, not taking your eyes off the scene. "It's perfect. Will you take me to that bar you told me about?"

Hinata smiled at your question, his gaze lit by the sunset. "Of course, it's a special place," he said, interlacing his fingers with yours as he began walking toward the hotel. "It's close to the beach, with an incredible view, and the live music is always so good it makes you forget everything else."

The idea of sharing that place with him, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere while the sun slowly faded behind the mountains, filled you with excitement. You knew it wasn’t just the bar that made it special, but everything it represented: a little corner of the world where you both would feel even more connected, sharing laughter, conversations, and dreams.

As you walked toward the hotel entrance, you thought about how lucky you were to be there, at that moment. It didn’t matter how many places you explored; the most important thing was always being together, creating memories that would be part of your shared story.

Hearing Hinata speak Portuguese while asking for the hotel keys was a new pleasure you had just discovered. His voice, already soft and warm in Japanese, became even deeper and more resonant when he spoke this new language, as if each syllable were imbued with a warmth only he could convey.

The way his accent added a different twist to his tone made you smile unconsciously, a feeling of comfort and admiration that grew with every sentence. It was as if, by speaking Portuguese, his essence became even more charming, more connected to the land that had captured his heart at that point in his life.

You stayed there, watching him as he smiled while receiving the keys and offered you a knowing glance. "We'll be in the room soon. Would you like to rest or explore a bit more?" he asked, unaware that, by doing so, he had once again captivated you with that mix of tenderness and confidence only he could convey.

"Let’s go to that bar, I’m eager to check it out," you replied enthusiastically, taking his arm naturally as you walked together toward the elevator. The contact was warm, and the connection between you both felt as solid as ever.

"I rested a lot on the road trip," you added with a soft smile. "Unless you want to rest, of course." You turned to look at him, noticing how his eyes sparkled with that unmistakable energy that always characterized him.

Hinata laughed softly, shaking his head. "Rest? With so much to explore? Impossible," he replied, his voice tinged with excitement. "Let’s go to the bar, but promise me you'll let yourself be amazed by the night view from the beach afterward. It’s something you have to see."

"I promise," you said without hesitation, feeling more and more excited about what the night would bring. The elevator arrived, and you both got in, enjoying those small moments together that made everything worth it.

The bar's atmosphere was filled with a mix of laughter, soft music, and the melting pot of languages flowing among the groups of tourists and locals. The dim lights illuminated the tables, but it was the dance floor that truly caught everyone's attention. People moved to the rhythm of samba and other Brazilian genres with a natural sensuality that seemed to flow from every movement, as if the music had completely taken over their bodies. The bright colors of the dancers' outfits and the sparkle of glasses on the tables added a warm, almost magical ambiance that enveloped you effortlessly.

You felt comfortable, relaxed, with a glass of piña colada with vodka in your hand, the ice still crunching with the first sip. The sweet, fruity flavor of the cocktail contrasted perfectly with the stronger kick of the vodka, giving you a small push of courage. You were starting to feel the effects of the alcohol—a slight euphoria that made everything around you feel more vibrant, more intimate.

Hinata, seated beside you, smiled as he noticed your gaze fixed on the dance floor. There was something in the way you watched the couples, how they surrendered themselves to the music, that made him realize it intrigued you more than you had let on.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, not expecting much more than a nod of acceptance. But he noticed something in your expression—a mix of curiosity and a desire to explore something new, something he hadn’t seen in you before.

You didn’t need more words. Without hesitation, you stood up, taking his hand and leading him toward the floor. “Yes,” you said, a mischievous smile surprising even yourself. “I want to try it. I want to see how they do it.”

The music grew louder as you began moving to the rhythm like the Brazilians. It wasn’t just the dancing that drew you in but the way every movement seemed to be a pure expression of sensuality and confidence. You, a little uncertain at first, grew increasingly comfortable, mimicking the moves with Hinata by your side, both of you laughing.

“I think I’m struggling a bit,” you said, glancing at your husband with a playful grin. “But... would you like to teach me how to do it right?”

Hinata looked at you with a mix of admiration and amusement in his eyes. He understood what that question might imply but didn’t want to rush to conclusions. His face lit up with a warm smile, the one he always wore when he saw you open to new experiences. “Of course,” he replied, stepping closer and placing his hands on your waist, guiding your body with his to the rhythm of the music.

Somehow, the dance, the alcohol, and the atmosphere charged with sensuality began opening doors you hadn’t considered before. As you moved more freely, you realized how much you longed to be closer to him—not just physically, but in a deeper, more intimate way.

What started as a fun dancing game quickly transformed into something more profound, more personal. His hands, firm yet gentle, slowly slid down to your hips, pulling you toward him with subtle but undeniable force. The music shifted, becoming slower, more sensual, as if it mirrored the connection forming between you two. The soft, rhythmic beats intertwined with the rapid thudding of your own heart, creating a unique melody just for the two of you.

Hinata guided you expertly, making your body move in slow, synchronized circles against his. Every sway of your hips felt like a silent conversation, a whisper shared between the dance and the growing desire. The brush of your bodies generated a palpable electricity, a heat that went beyond the room's temperature. You weren’t sure if it was the closeness of his body, the warmth of the atmosphere, or perhaps the combination of both, but the fire began to flood every corner of your being.

Your eyes closed with a soft sigh, surrendering completely. It didn’t matter if the music was slow or if others were moving around you; at that moment, everything else faded away. There was only the two of you, the rhythm of the music, the whisper of his breathing, and the touch of your bodies, as if the world around you dissolved, leaving you in a perfect, desire-filled bubble.

You felt more alive than ever, as though the simple sensation of his closeness was a reminder of how much you had been holding back, how much you wanted to explore. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel insecure or shy. Passion, desire—everything you had kept buried—was now surfacing in a way you hadn’t known existed, but you relished it with every fiber of your being.

One of Hinata’s hands slid gently from your hips to your jaw, holding it with a firm yet tender grip that made your eyes flutter open slowly. His thumb brushed your skin with an almost reverent delicacy, tilting your face to one side as he leaned in. There was no rush in his movements, only a quiet determination that left you breathless.

When his lips finally met yours, it was as though everything else disappeared entirely. The bar, the music, the people around you… none of it mattered. The kiss was slow, deep, and full of emotions that seemed to have built up over days. You had forgotten how much you missed this—this intimate connection with him. During the trip, both of you had focused so much on landscapes, laughter, and new experiences that, unintentionally, these moments of closeness had been set aside.

The kiss became a reminder of everything you shared, a silent language saying more than words ever could. You felt the warmth of his breath, the firmness of his hands, and that unmistakable love that had always defined your relationship. His other hand remained on your hip, keeping you close, as if afraid you might pull away.

When you finally separated, his eyes searched yours, and in that gaze, you found a blend of love, desire, and something more—something you couldn’t quite define but that ignited the spark within you even further. “I missed this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with emotion. “So much.”

You smiled softly, feeling your heart pound. “Me too, Hinata,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his, loving the way he seemed to adore you even in the gentle touch of his gaze. “I think we forgot how important this is, how important you are to me.”

His fingers barely grazed your back as he held you close, a gesture that, at any other time, might have gone unnoticed, but now, with the warmth of his touch, sent a shiver down your spine. It was so subtle yet laden with meaning that your thoughts began to drift, taking you back to a recent conversation with your friends.

It had been a quiet afternoon, filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. They had started with light topics—travel, restaurants, daily routines—but, as always happened with that group, the conversation had turned more personal, more intimate.

Your friends, amid sighs and nervous giggles, began sharing details about their own dynamics with their partners. “Have you ever tried something… different?” one of them asked with a mischievous smile as she swirled her wine glass. “Sometimes, a little roughness can spark things you didn’t even know you wanted.”

Another nodded, bursting into laughter as she recounted how her partner had surprised her one night with a firmer grip, a whispered command in her ear. The way they spoke, with a mix of playfulness and satisfaction, had left you intrigued. Though you tried to stay on the sidelines, their eyes turned to you, expectant.

“And you?” they asked almost in unison, smiling conspiratorially.

You laughed, a bit nervously, as your cheeks turned red. “We’re… well, we’ve always been more… traditional, I guess,” you admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed, though your friends didn’t judge you in the slightest. “We’ve never really talked about anything like that.”

"Well, you should," one of them chimed in enthusiastically. "You have no idea how liberating it can be. It's not about stopping enjoying what you already have; it's about exploring more, discovering new ways to connect together."

Those words had stuck with you ever since, echoing louder and louder in your mind. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy your intimate life with Hinata; on the contrary, you loved him and felt that you shared something special. But the idea of exploring, of finding a different side of the two of you, had left you wondering. What if there was more to discover, something you both could enjoy together if only you dared to bring it up?

Back in the present, the touch of his hand running down your back pulled you from your thoughts. His eyes met yours, soft and warm, but there was something more in his gaze, a spark that had perhaps always been there but that you were now noticing more clearly. Could you talk about it? Should you risk breaking the silence on this subject?

What if this wasn’t the right moment? Doubt anchored itself in your mind, immobilizing you. Talking about your sex life with Hinata, though it shouldn’t be complicated, felt like opening a door you weren’t sure how to close afterward. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—on the contrary, if there was anyone you could be vulnerable with, it was him. But the fear of making him uncomfortable or, worse, of him misunderstanding what you meant, filled you with uncertainty.

When is the right time to talk about something like this? As you watched him with that smile that always seemed to brighten any room, you wondered if a "perfect moment" even existed. Would it be on a quiet night when you were both relaxed at home? Or maybe in a spontaneous moment, like now, with the background music and the soft lights of the bar creating an ambiance straight out of a romantic movie?

You bit your lip, trying to untangle your thoughts. The way Hinata held you, how his eyes seemed to read yours, gave you a glimmer of confidence. But you still didn’t know how to start, how to put into words something so intimate that it could change dynamics you had both spent years building.

"Are you okay?" His voice came softly, pulling you back to the present. His brow furrowed slightly, worried, as if he had noticed something different about you.

"Yeah, of course," you lied with a smile, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced.

Hinata knew you too well, and the worst part was that he would probably give you all the time in the world to say whatever was on your mind. The problem was that you didn’t even know how to start. Maybe it wasn’t the right time, but you also knew that if you kept waiting for that perfect moment, you might stay silent forever.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t about finding the moment but creating it.

"Don’t be reckless," you scolded yourself silently, as if those words could keep the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind at bay. You couldn’t afford to ruin the atmosphere—not now, not when everything seemed to flow so naturally.

But at the same time, there was something you couldn’t ignore: the feeling that this moment might be exactly what you needed to take the first step. The brush of his hands on your hips, the warmth radiating from his body, the way his eyes sparkled with a mix of playfulness and desire—it all seemed to conspire to push you to speak.

"What’s wrong?" Hinata broke the silence, leaning in a little closer to ensure his voice wasn’t lost in the music and laughter of the bar. His fingers traced small circles on your waist, a gesture so casual yet charged with intimacy.

"It’s just... nothing, it’s nothing," you replied hastily, trying to divert his attention with a smile that probably wasn’t as convincing as you’d hoped.

He raised an eyebrow, as if he didn’t believe your response for a second. "If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be so distracted," he pointed out gently, his tone filled with that infinite patience that always disarmed you.

You sighed, looking away toward the cocktail in your hand. "I don’t want to ruin the moment," you admitted in a low voice, more to yourself than to him.

"Then don’t ruin it," he replied with a mischievous smile, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "Just enjoy, and when you’re ready to talk, I’m here."

His words, simple but full of meaning, made something inside you relax. You didn’t have to rush or find the perfect words immediately. This moment wasn’t the end of anything—it was the beginning of everything.

You gave yourself a mental slap, forcing yourself to gather the necessary courage. You bit your lip hard, trying to silence the avalanche of doubts that continued to assault you. Instead of speaking, you turned with determination, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your bodies move in unison to the music.

Hinata looked at you with a mix of surprise and tenderness but said nothing. He simply leaned a little closer to you, his lips brushing against your temple while his hands found a steady rhythm on your waist.

The warmth of his closeness and the electricity of the moment made you feel safe—for now. You reminded yourself that there was no need to rush. There was time. This journey, after all, was just for the two of you.

"When we get to the hotel, I’ll do it," you silently promised yourself, closing your eyes as you let the rhythm of the music envelop you. You had to do it—not because of your friends’ advice but for yourself. You wanted to open that door with him, to explore something more, something new, something only the two of you could discover together.

For now, you allowed yourself to enjoy this moment, feeling safe in his arms, knowing that when the time came, he’d be ready to listen.

You sat on the bed with a sigh of relief, your hands reaching for the heels you had worn all day. You took them off urgently, as if your ankles were begging for a break after hours of endurance.

Hinata closed the door behind him, leaving the key on the nightstand as he watched you with a slight smile. "Too much dancing for one night?" he teased, walking over to sit beside you on the bed.

"Too much dancing for these shoes," you replied with a soft laugh, massaging your feet with your hands. "But it was worth it."

"It's always worth it when I see you enjoying yourself like that," he said, leaning in to gently take one of your feet, helping with the massage. His firm fingers found the exact spots, drawing a sigh of relief from you.

The gesture made your heart skip a beat. You looked at him, his eyes focused on his task, his expression so calm and attentive. It was the perfect moment, yet you still felt a lump in your throat.

"Thank you," you murmured finally, more for the massage than anything else, though deep down, you knew there was more weight behind that word.

Hinata looked up at you, noticing something in your tone. "Is something wrong?" he asked softly, setting your foot aside and turning to face you fully.

You took a deep breath, feeling how the moment you'd been putting off all day had finally caught up to you.

The question slipped from your lips before you could consider if it was the right way to approach it—a sudden impulse overtaking you. But with Hinata, there was never a "right" way to do things; everything was always spontaneous, natural, as if the world around you disappeared in the space where only the two of you existed.

"Have you ever thought about... more?" The phrase hung in the air between you, a question laden with as much uncertainty as curiosity.

Hinata stayed silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours as he read your expression. It wasn’t the reaction you had expected, but it didn’t surprise you either. He had always been an open book, yet now, something in his gaze seemed deeper, more attentive.

"More of what?" he asked, his voice gentle, as if trying to understand exactly what you meant.

The vulnerability lingered in every word that left your lips, but you didn’t stop. You had started speaking without filters, and there was no turning back now. You looked at Hinata with determination, though the knot in your stomach remained.

"More about us, you know... sexually."

The words, as direct as they were, seemed to hang in the air for a moment, the weight of them filling the room. The atmosphere shifted immediately, the tension in the air palpable. But it wasn’t discomfort—not for him, at least.

Hinata looked at you attentively, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. His expression was a mix of surprise and curiosity, but also something else you couldn’t quite identify.

"More about us?" he repeated, his tone calm, as if he were processing what you had said. "You mean exploring something different? Something... more."

You nodded, a bit embarrassed but unwilling to back down. "Yes, that. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I don’t know, sometimes I feel like there’s something beyond what we’ve tried, something we could explore together if... if you’re interested too."

Hinata stayed silent for a moment, as if deeply reflecting. Then, with a compassionate smile, he gently took your hands and intertwined them with his.

"My love," he said, his tone so warm it made you feel like you could trust him completely, "I’ve always wanted you to feel comfortable and happy. And I never want you to feel like we can’t talk about anything. If this is what you want, then of course, we’ll do it together, at your pace."

The warmth of his words gave you the reassurance you needed. There was no judgment, only an open willingness to explore what you desired—what both of you desired.

"Although... I never brought it up because I was afraid," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Afraid of making you feel insecure. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t enjoying sex with you."

His words struck you right in the heart, his vulnerability opening up to you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The gesture—his hand scratching the back of his neck, so human, so sincere—made you realize how much he had worried about you, even in moments when he hadn’t said a word.

"I didn’t want you to think I don’t enjoy having sex with you," he continued, his gaze lowered as if he couldn’t fully look at you. "Because I do—more than I can put into words. But I didn’t want to pressure you, didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or like there was something wrong with what we already share."

For a moment, you stayed silent, absorbing what he had just confessed. You’d been so focused on your own thoughts and desires that you hadn’t considered Hinata’s side, his own fears. You looked at him, and the affection you felt for him grew even stronger.

"But now I know we need to talk about this," he said firmly, lifting his eyes to meet yours. "So if there’s something you want to explore... I want us to do it together. No matter how different it might be, if you’re ready, I’ll be ready too."

The relief you felt was almost immediate. It was as if all the tension that had been building between you, the small unspoken fears and doubts, dissolved in that moment.

"You didn’t need to be afraid," you said softly, taking his hand and brushing your fingers over it. "I would never want you to feel that way, Hinata. All I want is for us to be okay, to be together, and to always be able to talk about what we want."

He nodded slowly, a shy smile forming on his lips. "So... we’ll explore whatever you want to explore?" Your smile was answer enough, and in the end, no more words were necessary.

What had started as an open and honest conversation quickly transformed into a deeper connection—both physical and emotional. Hinata’s proximity, his touch at once decisive and tender, made your heart race. Without speaking, but with a gaze full of understanding, he made it clear that you both shared the desire to explore the unknown, to dive into new experiences together.

His hand, firm on your hips, gently pulled you toward him with a palpable desire. You felt his warmth through the fabric, and when he sat you on his lap, the contact became immediate and electrifying. The closeness didn’t just ignite the spark; it turned it into a blazing fire.

His lips found yours with a passion you hadn’t shared in some time—a renewed passion born from the vulnerability and sincerity of your conversation. His kiss was slow at first, exploratory, as if savoring every second of this new chapter in your relationship.

Your body responded instantly, instinctively leaning closer, letting yourself be swept away by the intensity of the moment. The feeling of being so near, of sharing something so intimate, filled you with a mix of nerves and excitement.

What started as a gentle kiss intensified with each second. Hinata's hands, which until now had been so careful, began to move with more determination. They ran down your back, touching the softness of your skin with a mix of urgency and devotion, as if they didn't want to leave anything unexplored. The touch of his hands against your body sent a warm current through your veins, an intense sensation that you hadn't experienced like that before.

His kiss became more demanding, an unexpected contrast to his usual tenderness, but somehow it was exactly what you wanted. Every movement of his lips and hands brought you closer to him, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The world outside the room ceased to exist, leaving only the contact, the shared desire that now flowed unrestricted.

Every caress, every brush of skin on skin, seemed to have a purpose, as if both could read each other's desires without the need for words. The touch of his hands, so firm and soft at the same time, ran over your body with a familiarity that felt new, as if everything that had been kept in the silence of the previous years now wanted to come to light.

Your hand traveled to his abdomen, under the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin against your fingertips. There was something about that closeness that made you feel freer, more alive, as if you could finally allow yourself to be yourself without reservation. The pressure of his lips against yours, followed by his hand on the back of your neck, increased the desire to be even closer.

Each movement of his body towards yours made you want to explore more, discover more about what you both wanted at that moment. His hand, which had traveled to your leg, slightly lifted the fabric of your skirt, revealing your skin, making a shiver run through your body. The mix of sensations, the touch of his skin against yours was all you needed to lose yourself in the moment.

“Tell me what you want to do,” he whispered, his deep voice echoing in your ears, filling you with an indescribable feeling, a desire that grew with every word.

His lips moved with precision, leaving a trail of heat on the skin of your neck. Soft, barely perceptible bites followed by open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers down your spine. His breath against your skin mixed with the soft hum of the air conditioner, his every move igniting something inside you.

There was no rush in his actions, but no unnecessary softness either. It was a calculated intensity, a mix of dominance and attention that kept your senses alert. His firm hand on your hip held you in place, while his mouth explored every inch of your neck with a precision that seemed designed to make you lose yourself in the sensation.

His hands slowly moved down, firm and determined, until he squeezed your ass with a dominance that made you inhale sharply. The instinctive movement of your hips against his leg sent a wave of electricity through your body, suddenly reminding you of the question he had asked moments before.

“Tell me what you want to do,” he had said, and now the voice resonated in your mind like a persistent echo, as deep and clear as the heat radiating from his body.

You bit your lip, trying to organize your thoughts as your hips continued to seek contact, unconsciously marking a rhythm on his thigh. His gaze, dark and fixed on yours, seemed to demand a response, but not of empty words, but of action.

Your hands moved decisively, gripping his thighs with a firmness that made him raise an eyebrow, somewhere between surprised and fascinated. You knew how much you liked them, and you weren’t going to be shy about it. The pressure of your fingers on the well-defined muscles was a pleasure in itself, but the position you were in gave you more control, more freedom.

You moved your hips against him confidently, seeking to explore the connection his thighs could offer you. A spark of amusement crossed his face at the sight of your determination. “That’s it,” he murmured in a low, almost defiant tone, his hands returning to your hips to support you as he followed your every move.

With one agile movement, Hinata’s hands shot to your shoulders, holding you firmly but never losing his usual gentleness. Before you could process what was happening, he lifted you slightly, making you feel light as a feather in his arms.

With unparalleled delicacy, his nimble fingers slid your panties down in a determined motion. His dark eyes searched yours intently, as if asking for permission and confirmation to continue, though the heat in the air said it all. It was clear that every action of his was meant to make you feel better, more comfortable, and completely adored under his care.

Firmly, Hinata guided your hips back to his thigh, forcing you to sit on it once more. The intensity in his gaze left no room for doubt; in that moment, you were all that existed for him. The feel of the fabric of his pants against your bare skin was something new and unexpected, a contrast between rough and delicate that made you hold your breath.

With an almost frantic desire, your hips move hard on Hinata's thigh, searching for the perfect friction that will bring you to ecstasy. Each thrust of his leg against your pussy is like an explosion that shakes every cell of your being and leaves you yearning for more.

The wetness between your legs becomes overwhelming, almost painful, but you can't stop yourself. Each touch is like an intense electric current running through your body from your core to your toes. In that moment, you are completely immersed in surrender to the pleasure shared with Hinata.

You brought your hands to his shoulders, seeking a foothold as you let yourself be carried away by the need that flooded your body. The constant movement awakened sensations that were new to you, a heady mix of pleasure and vulnerability. Your fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt, an anchor you needed to not lose yourself completely in the whirlwind of emotions that consumed you.

"Are you feeling so desperate that you need to fuck yourself on my thigh?" Hinata whispered huskily, his hot breath tickling your ear. It was a question, but also a confident statement, as if he already knew the answer and was willing to take control.

Hinata’s hands slid down your hips, his thumbs tracing circles over your skin, heightening the intensity of the moment. The pressure of his thigh beneath you and the growing heat of his skin against yours made you feel a mix of euphoria and freedom that you hadn’t anticipated.

Hinata gripped your hips with a merciless grip, guiding you through each movement with surgical precision. “Don’t stop,” he ordered in a deep voice that rumbled inside you, charged with a fierce authority you had never known before. His eyes remained fixed on you, devouring your every expression as if it were his most prized food.

Without hesitation, you obeyed and moved with more confidence, allowing yourself to feel every touch, every pressure he generated as he held you with an almost painful firmness. Suddenly, his hands moved down from your hips to the base of your shirt and grabbed it with determination. In one fluid movement, he pulled the fabric up and removed it without hesitation.

The cool air hit your bare skin and it was such a sharp contrast to the heat of the room that it reminded you of how exposed you were in front of him. But Hinata didn’t stop there. With impressive dexterity, he found the clasp of your bra and opened it with a simple movement. The garment fell to the floor, leaving your skin exposed.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself, as his hands returned to your hips, making sure you didn’t break the rhythm he had set.

His lips returned to your neck, nibbling and sucking on the tender skin exposed before him, leaving marks, which for him are a direct way of claiming you in the sight of anyone. The whispered words of praise made your skin prickle and a shiver run through your body.

One of his hands settled on your back, pulling you towards him as he took one of your breasts between his lips. He gently tugged on your hard nipple with his teeth before rubbing it against his tongue, while his free hand pinched the other with a perfect mix of pressure and softness.

Your hips moved harder against him, seeking that perfect friction with each powerful thrust that made your body shudder with pleasure. Your head fell back, letting out moans and cries as his strong thigh repeatedly hit your clit and brought you to uncontrollable ecstasy.

“Hinata!” you screamed his name loudly, a desperate plea to climax. The movement of your hips grew faster and wilder, driven by a burning desire that consumed you. Your sensitive, swollen folds pressed against his thigh urgently, the juices of your arousal leaking from between them and soaking the fabric of his pants.

The pleasure was so intense that your words were jumbled together and coming out in incoherent babbles. His lips moved messily around your nipple, sucking and nibbling with deviously delicious skill while his other hand continued to torture the sensitive nub, making you even wetter than you already were. “Cum on my thigh,” he ordered you in a husky voice.

Your body was taken over by a loud moan that escaped your lips, dragging you into an orgasm that shook your entire being and made you tremble in Hinata’s arms. He stopped tending to your breasts, looking at you with desire as your watery eyes begged for his cock. But he wasn’t ready to give it to you yet, still wanting to see you come undone under his caresses before burying his member in your tight, wet hole.

“Please,” you begged, seeking his lips, but he stopped you with a firm hand holding your hair, keeping you in place. Hinata ran his tongue across your lips before gently tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. “No,” he said firmly, “You will be a good slut for me and take everything I have to give you.”

Hinata held your hips tightly and dropped you onto the bed, your back sinking slightly into the mattress as he stood in front of you. His eyes met yours for an instant, heavy with something beyond words, something raw, unadorned.

With quick, almost mechanical movements, he unbuttoned his shirt. Buttons came free one by one until the white fabric fell from his shoulders, sliding unceremoniously to the floor. He didn’t stop. His hands moved to his waist, undoing his belt and pushing the rest of his clothes away in a hurry, as if they were more of a nuisance than a prelude.

Each piece went to a different place in the room. The movements weren’t delicate or careful; they were impulsive, as if time wasn’t something he could afford to waste.

You watched him from the bed, motionless but expectant, following each movement with your eyes, analyzing, processing. There were no smiles or unnecessary gestures, just the immediacy of a shared moment, the silence being interrupted only by the sound of clothes falling to the floor.

When he was completely naked, Hinata stood there for a moment, his breathing heavy but controlled. There was a palpable tension in the air, not of tenderness, but of something more physical, more instinctive. Then he leaned towards you, his hands resting on the mattress on either side of your body, and let the next movement speak for itself.

With a determined movement, he took the wrinkled fabric of your skirt in his large hands and pulled it up, exposing your hips. The skirt was a work of art, too pretty to be carelessly removed.

His hands spread your legs, exposing your cute pussy to his view. His gaze rested on it with a mix of desire and admiration. “You have the most beautiful pussy,” he said in a deep, almost husky voice. His honesty was so direct that it left no room for doubt. “It’s like it was made to tempt me… always so perfect.”

One of his hands gently caressed the inside of your thigh, while he used two fingers to part your swollen folds and continue to enjoy the sight. Your pussy glistened with the moisture that continued to ooze out of it.

He used his thumb to rub your clit, and you were so sensitive from the recent orgasm that your hips pressed hard against the mattress in search of relief. But his firm hands wouldn’t let you close your legs. Suddenly, he slapped your pussy. The sound of your wet skin being slapped echoed throughout the room.

“I asked you to be a good slut for me,” he growls as two of his fingers plunge into your dripping hole up to the knuckles. Hinata’s touch didn’t stop; his pace, slow and deliberate at first, began to increase in intensity.

His skilled fingers moved with increasing speed, delving right into that sweet spot inside you that had your body arching almost immediately. His gaze remained fixed on your face, attentive to every sound, every movement you made. Your eyes fluttered shut instinctively, immersing you in a sea of ​​overwhelming sensations.

The change was instantaneous. You, who until then had maintained a fragile control, let out a stifled moan, followed by a succession of broken gasps that filled the room. Your body convulsed under Hinata's expert touches, while he continued to explore every corner of your being with his fingers and his burning gaze.

Your hands clung to the sheets with desperate strength, squeezing and twisting them between your fingers as they searched for something to anchor themselves to in the midst of ecstasy. The sheets gave way under your relentless grip, forming deep wrinkles where your strength marked them. The soft sound of the fabric tearing echoed in the room, mixing with your moans and sighs.

Moans and moans escaped your mouth in desperation, as you tried to pull your hypersensitive pussy away from Hinata's relentless movements. But he gave you no respite, he was determined to tear another orgasm from you. With each thrust, your inner walls tightened and unclenched in an endless dance, enveloping his fingers tightly. Hinata increased the pace of his movements, his fingers thrusting in and out with frantic speed, seeking out that sensitive area that made you shudder.

His curled fingers caressed and pressed against your most sensitive spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You can take it, you have a greedy pussy,” he murmured, urging you to give yourself over completely to the ecstasy that awaited you.

"Your rubbery walls clenched tightly against his fingers, as your hips curved away from the bed in a sensual arch. Your voice spilled over into cries, calling his name over and over as your legs shook uncontrollably.

You couldn't help but moan at the overwhelming pleasure he was bringing you, the way he was finger fucking you so delicious it even hurt. "More, oh god," you moaned, your hand desperately reaching out to grab onto his wrist to find some support on him. "I need another, please," you begged desperately, because you knew two fingers would never be enough to match the feeling his fat cock was providing you.

Every single one of your moans and pleading words gave him the confirmation he wanted: you were completely lost in that moment, completely his. Hinata noticed the change in your breathing, his body beginning to shake with the unmistakable sign that you were close to climax.

You gasped, unable to keep yourself in silence, your moans increasing in volume and desperation. “No… please don’t stop…” you begged, gripping the sheets even tighter, completely lost in what he was doing to you.

Ecstasy exploded once again, a torrent of uncontrollable sensations flooding over you. Your walls clenched tightly around his expert fingers, as if they wanted to lose themselves in them forever. His every move was a symphony of pleasure, every touch an explosion of fire and passion. You couldn’t control the moans escaping your mouth, nor did you want to.

Gently, Hinata removed his fingers from your body and brought them to your lips. “Open your mouth and suck on them” was his command, and you obeyed immediately, tasting your own juices on his fingers. A moan escaped your lips at the feel of you on him. Hinata stepped away for a moment to rummage through his things until he found what he was looking for: a black tie. A smile spread across his face as he approached you with it in his hand.

“Come here,” he whispered, waiting for you. Without question, you walked over to him and climbed down from the bed until you were in front of his body. Hinata wrapped the soft fabric around you, covering your eyes. Firmly, he tied the tie around your eyes, securing it tightly, leaving you completely blind to what was to come. Your world instantly went dark, your other senses heightening. The sound of his breathing, the feel of the sheets, the feeling of your skin still warming from his touch.

“You can’t see now, but you will hear everything I do.” His voice was low, filled with absolute confidence, allowing you to feel safe next to him. “Now, get on your knees.”

With a mix of anticipation and submission, you complied immediately. Your body trembled slightly, unable to contain the excitement that coursed through your being. With your head slightly bowed and your hands resting on your thighs, you knelt before him. You could still feel your heart racing and the agitated exhale from everything you had already experienced up to that point.

“I want to taste you,” you said shamelessly, making clear your deepest desires. The thought of it alone made your mouth water. The boldness of your words made a cocky smile appear on Hinata’s lips, his gaze darkening as he took in the lust you emanated. One of your hands ran up his legs, wrapping around his hard cock greedily.

With a firm hand, you explore every vein and ridge of his cock, feeling the warmth and strength of his member against your palm. With your thumb, you playfully stroke the tip of his cock, feeling the precum leaking out onto your hand. Eager to taste him, you take a teasing lick along his length.

Hinata moves his hips against you in a rhythm that makes you crave more. Without a second thought, you take his member into your mouth, taking in as much as he can fit in while using your hand to circle what can’t fit in your mouth. You feel him tighten his grip on your hair as you bob your head up and down his length, stimulating his tip with your playful tongue.

With a sharp movement, Hinata began to thrust his hips into your mouth. His movements were quick and precise, hitting the back of your throat over and over as he gripped your hair tightly to keep you in place as he continued to fuck your throat mercilessly. His rough moans escaped between his parted lips, filling the air with a heady mix of lust and unbridled desire.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good.” His words were rough and raw, but his voice was filled with pleasure as he growled with each thrust. His hips moved in a frantic rhythm, thrusting back and forth in a constant cycle. His hands were firmly held onto your thighs, holding you up so you could keep up with the fluid motion of your mouth on him. Each sensation was intense and electrifying, making you wonder how you could last much longer.

With his mind clouded with desire, Hinata could only think of how good your warm, tight pussy would feel around his cock. He pulled his member out of your mouth, and with one swift movement, he pushed you off of him. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath.

“Get up,” Hinata ordered you huskily. He guided you towards the bed, waiting for you to climb in, and before you could turn around, he pushed your chest hard into the mattress, making it clear that he wanted to fuck you in doggy style. The tip of his cock slammed into your still sensitive pussy from his earlier ministrations, drawing an uncontrollable moan from you.

“Hinata!” you cried out loudly as you felt him thrust into you hard, his hips colliding with your raised ass cheeks for him. His hands held the swirling skirt at your waist to use as leverage to pull you into him with each thrust.

“You have the most exquisite pussy, baby. Fuck, you take me so well,” Hinata murmured between moans. One of his hands squeezed your ass and slapped it hard, while the other kneaded the sensitive skin. “Oh god, oh god, don’t stop,” you begged as pleasure took over your entire body.

A series of spanks echoed through the room, leaving red marks on your ass cheeks as Hinata thrust into you hard again and again. The steady rhythm of thrusting in and out of you made your skin crawl and your moans turned into screams of pleasure. Your inner walls clenched around him, refusing to let go. All you could think about was how well your husband was fucking you, his member pushing deep into your vagina and caressing your cervix, making you scream even louder.

Rebel tears fell onto the fabric of the tie tied to your eyes as you enjoyed each thrust. With one hand, you reached for your clit and stimulated it in circular motions, adding yet another layer of pleasure to your body.

You were sure that Hinata’s powerful hand would leave marks on your hips the next day, but that didn’t matter as he continued to pound you hard and passionately. Each crash against your inner walls made the sound of sloshing fill the room, and you clenched down harder seeking to milk him for all the pleasure possible.

“Please fill me,” you begged Hinata, moving your hips in rhythm with his and squeezing him even further inside you.

With one last thrust, Hinata let himself go and spilled inside you, filling you with his essence as you reached a climax so intense it left you shaking. Together, you lay there tangled in a mix of sweat and pleasure, until you finally caught your breath and broke apart to rest on the bed.

[starsfic]

Meet the Alternates

The SFW beginning of a lemon fic over on AO3, inspired by art such as @pronouns-d-ace's piece here.

It was rare that Pure Vanilla woke up in a good mood.

To most, he seemed like the perfect morning person, one who rose with the sun and the bluebirds and greeted the day with a smile, ready to accept the challenges of the day.

That, however, was the mask he wore, the mask he was now aware he was wearing. Few saw him linger in bed sometimes, wishing to just go back to sleep, already considering the amount of work that needed to be done. Sometimes he woke up at his desk, having fallen asleep in the middle of said work. Only his bluebirds and one other cookie had seen him breathe in and out, preparing for the work ahead, and then smile.

He loved his kingdom, truly. He loved his subjects, truly.

He just wished he had been better prepared for all of it.

However, those thoughts were a million miles away at the moment. His bed was soft and warm, the sun gently cradling him in coziness. He yawned but didn’t allow his orchid staff to open its eyes, instead snuggling deeper into his covers and stretching out his legs.

His foot knocked into someone’s leg.

A hand draped over his chest.

He leaned into the touch, enjoying the sensation of-

Wait.

Last he remembered, he had been falling asleep at his desk. Last he remembered, there was nobody to share his bed with. Last he remembered, his soul jam had been giving the faint, magical hum it always did- now, it was silent.

Pure Vanilla opened the eye of his orchid staff.

The room he was in looked like his room, covered in white and gold and warm sunshine yellow- it even had his plants. However, there was more blue than he recognized. Here and there, there were gold eyes on the walls, all looking around. Despite himself, he shivered, remembering the strange blue eyes that had watched him in the Spire of Deceit, the eyes that now lingered in the shadow of his cloak. The bed felt larger, and there was more books than he recognized. A tea set sat with too many cups on a table.

The body next to him moved.

Pure Vanilla looked and nearly screamed.

He knew that face. He had looked at that face in the mirror in the Spire of Deceit. He had nearly not recognized it, seeing the exhaustion and apathy that had lit up once-hopeful eyes, not even dwelling on the pale complexion and limp hair. 

Truthless Reclusion laid next to him.

As if thinking his name was akin to screaming it, the recluse opened his eyes.

They met eyes.

The two of them stared at each other. Pure Vanilla held his breath, suddenly both very afraid and uncertain of why he was so afraid. Without the figure before him, he would have never understood Deceit and its balance with Truth…he would have never combined souls with Shadow Milk and better understood his better half. Still, it was-

“ Nope .”

Truthless Recluse was hopping off the bed before Pure Vanilla could react. “Wait-” he managed, watching as the corrupted version of himself grabbed that familiar blue staff where it leaned next to his. “What do you mean, nope ?”

“I mean, nope . I do not wish to deal with this…” Truthless Recluse turned, hand raised as if preparing to gesture at him. He froze. “With all these clones?”

“Clones-?”

He turned his head, moving his staff to get a better look, and felt himself freeze.

There were at least ten other versions of himself laying in the bed. Some were pulled away while others were cuddled up. He turned and realized that at least nine other orchid staffs rested against the wall, waiting for their owners to wake up and collect them.

He recognized the brown garb of Healer Cookie. He even recognized the short hair of himself before his awakening. There even seemed to be another version of Truthless Recluse. However, the others eluded him-

“OW!”

At least three other versions sat up immediately, all looking around in surprise. Their harsh awakenings seemed to be a domino effect as the others stirred, looking around in confusion. Pure Vanilla turned as well, looking to see Truthless Recluse rub his arm. “Did you pinch yourself?” he said, unable to help the disbelief that was welling up. It was better than the hysterical laughter.

“Yes,” Truthless Recluse said, pulling his sleeve down. “I was wondering if this was a strange dream, because I could not sense the leech’s influence.”

“Leech-?”

“Do not call him that.”

The possessive snap belonged to two of the other hims. One wore what appeared to be a chiton, ombre going from midnight blue to white, his shoulders bare save for a blue shawl that clasped at the front with the souljam, his long hair braided back. The other wore what appeared to be his normal robes, except any brown was replaced for gold. What made Pure Vanilla uneasy, however, was the gold blindfold over his eyes. His long hair seemed to float, familiar golden eyes winking, akin to the eyes that lurked in Shadow Milk’s hair.

“Who…are you?” another version of him, wearing what seemed to be an adult version of his shepherd robes, looking around with hazy, concerned eyes. “Where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” the pre-awakened version of himself said, reaching out to give a comforting pat. His tone was similar to comforting Gingerbrave and the other two. “But, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

The other version of Truthless Recluse didn’t say a word as he slid off the bed. He headed to the balcony and opened it up. “Wherever it is,” he said. “I don’t recognize it.”

Pure Vanilla joined him. He was right. This place seemed more like a large manor than the Spire or the Vanilla Kingdom. It was large, with what appeared to be a lovely garden, but it seemed to be floating in space. It almost resembled the Dark Side of the Moon, yet he felt no connection, no power here.

Okay. So. He needed to lay out what he knew.

There was one…two…three…twelve versions of himself.

They seemed to be in some other realm that none of them had any connection with

None of them remembered how they got here.

They had name tags.

“We have name tags,” he said, unsure of how he didn’t realize that sooner. There was a small paper name tag with golden writing on it. “I suppose to help distinguish ourselves?”

“It may help,” the pre-awakened version of himself said, standing up from the bed and over to the tea set. He poured the tea into the twelve cups and sat down. Pure Vanilla mimicked him. The others drifted over, all sharing worried but determined looks as they took a cup of tea. “Even if it doesn’t, this would get confusing without these nicknames.”

“I’ll start,” Pure Vanilla offered, angling his staff to get a look. “I’m…Pure Vanilla.” That didn’t seem fair. And kind of boring.

None of them spoke up, however. “I’m Nilly,” the pre-awakened version of himself said next. It was hard not to notice a few shoulders slump at that.

Truthless Recluse was next. “I’m T.R.” he said with a faint hum. 

“I’m not sure what mine says-” Healer said, drawing attention to his blindfold and wrapped up orchid.

Fortune Teller leaned forward. “Yours says Healer, and I’m Fortune Teller. That seems very straightforward.”

“Mine says Assistant,” the Pure Vanilla in the chiton said, rubbing a thumb over his souljam. “That also seems straightforward. It was what I was baked for.”

“Really?” His curiosity got the better of him. “Assistant to who?”

Assistant’s smile could have lit up the night. “To the Fount, of course.” Silence dawned. He…he knew the Fount of Knowledge. Pure Vanilla swore that his souljam burned, lightly, at that sentence. “When he and his siblings were starting to corrupt, the witches thought it would be best for them to have companions that could help them understand their role in the world.” His smile turned a bit bitter. “I would say I didn’t do a good job at that, even with half of the souljam, but the Fount thinks the world of me.”

Silence fell before a throat lightly cleared. “I was given the name Vivid,” a version of him dressed in green and white said, the silver wing hairpiece that pinned his hair into a high ponytail fluttering lightly. “Our friend here,” he said as he patted the shoulder of the grown shepherd. “Is Shepherd.”

Shepherd nodded, looking a touch embarrassed. Pure Vanilla had to wonder about him- did he never go to the academy? Did he stay behind in his old village, continuing to tend to his sheep? If he thought back, he had been reluctant to go even when he displayed strong magic, fearing that the farm would suffer in his absence. However, his parents had convinced him to go, viewing it as a chance to give him a better life. In Shepherd’s world, did they fail to convince him?

The next version of himself, wearing a blue and yellow cardigan and a cap with little golden wings, cleared his throat. “I’m Blue, according to my tag.”

“And I am Kitsune,” the next version of himself said, wearing white robes similar to the ones worn in Dark Cacao’s kingdom. Soft-looking white fox ears twitched, alongside a tail. 

Next up was the other Truthless Recluse. “I am,” He peered at his tag. His cold and apathetic look dropped, replaced by a look of annoyance that practically seared the air. “...Reclusey.” He leaned back with a groan. “I am never going to escape that damn nickname…”

“Aw, I think it’s charming,” the Pure Vanilla with the blindfold and hair eyes cooed. “My name is Imitation Vanilla.”

A weird tension filled the air at the name. The eyes on the wall seemed to stare into his skin.

“What’s your story?” Shepherd spoke up.

“Oh, there’s no need to concern yourself with that,” Imitation said it so sweetly that Pure Vanilla almost believed him. “Everything’s fine.”

The silence drew thicker.

Unease curled down Pure Vanilla’s spine.

“...you’re a Beast, aren’t you?” Reclusey said, his voice softly breaking the silence.

Imitation smiled. Pure Vanilla wanted to deny it- there was no way a Beast could smile so sweetly. However, his mind drew back to being Truthless Recluse.

In a few moments, a rare few moments, Shadow Milk had smiled sweetly at him. When Hollyberry discussed her run-in with Eternal Sugar, she had described someone who was nothing but sweet to her. So, the Beasts could be sweet.

“Beast of what?” he asked.

Imitation didn’t say a word. Instead, his smile grew-

BANG!

Even with his poor eyesight, Pure Vanilla could see the explosion that rocked the manor, coming from the other side. All of them got up as one and rushed to the balcony, all craning their heads and staff to get a better look.

A small group was huddled in the garden, surrounding what looked to be three figures. They all looked like a big blob of blue.

“I’ll bet my library on that being the leech,” T.R. said.

Pure Vanilla sighed as he pulled away from the edge. “I won’t take you up on that bet.”

Mostly because he would lose.

The hallway outside looked something between the Spire and the Vanilla castle, all richly decorated with a sense of unison. If Pure Vanilla had chosen to stay there, he would have liked it. However, it only made him feel uneasy, and the sight of what appeared to be a fistfight in the garden only worsened the feeling.

A set of grand doors was thrown open, allowing access to the garden. From this angle, it looked like they were taking a calm, peaceful walk in the starlight. However, the sound of yelling and spells broke the peaceful atmosphere.

Pure Vanilla came to a stop when he reached the huddle. There appeared to be ten Shadow Milk Cookies. Seven were creating a crescent, revealing the three other fighting.

One was Shadow Milk. Pure Vanilla didn’t doubt it. That was his Shadow Milk, pulling the hair of a Shadow Milk wearing a blue and gold suit that was trying to bite him. A broken monocle sat on the floor with a blue hat, eyes blinking and looking quite dazed on the soft blue fabric. Moving around them to try and pull Shadow Milk off at various different angles was the Fount of Knowledge- no longer just a statue, but a cookie in gold and blue, his hair empty of eyes but glittering with stars, crowned with a small white crown.

As well as a completely panicked expression.

“Dearest!”

Pure Vanilla grunted as a hand shoved into his face, pushing him back, allowing Imitation to rush forward. Shadow Milk and the other version of him froze at the yell, allowing the blindfolded cookie to shove the former away before embracing the latter. The Fount wrapped his arms around Shadow Milk before he could lurch forward, leaving him to snap at the air. “Oh, your poor face,” the Beast cooed, reaching up to wipe at the jam rolling from his Shadow Milk’s nose. A flourish of green allowed the injuries to heal. “What happened?”

“Oh, Nilly, there…was a mild disagreement between myself and…” ‘Dearest’ squinted and looked around. “My other selves, I suppose, and things got a bit out of hand-”

His eyes landed on him.

Pure Vanilla had never seen a blush form so fast.

“I…see you have some other selves of your own, Nilly,” he said, voice slightly strained. “Who are they?”

“Well,” Imitation turned, not releasing his hold around ‘Dearest’s neck. “That is Pure Vanilla, T.R., Healer, Fortune Teller, Reclusey, Assistant, Nilly, Vivid, Blue, Shepherd, and Kitsune.” He smiled, leaning in. “And what is your nickname, my dear?”

“Well, um, I’m Sage. That is Fount,” The Fount of Knowledge gave a polite nod. “That is Actor,” A Shadow Milk with a pixie cut waved. “Azure,” A pretty young lady smirked. “Awake,” A version of Sage, wearing more gold, nodded. “That is Save,” Another version of the Fount was looking around, his hair braided back, loose enough to expose the eyes peeking out. His robes resembled Assistant’s ombre chiton, and it explained why he looked relieved when Assistant walked up, wrapping a hand around his arm. “That is Sheep,” A Shadow Milk with wolf ears and tail huffed, but that failed to hide the smirk. “That is Swap,” There was another version of Sage, wearing more white. Reclusey huffed next to him, suggesting that it was his Shadow Milk. “And that is Shadow,” A Shadow Milk, wearing an outfit that was a cross between Shadow Milk’s jester outfit and Sage’s outfit, was looking at Imitation with a strange intensity. Was this Sage’s version of T.R.?

“You forgot this one,” Fount spoke up, wrapping an arm further around Shadow Milk.

“And that’s the brute.”

“Jester, actually.” Shadow Milk finally snapped, shoving an elbow into Fount’s side, hard enough that his pre-corrupted self had to take a step. Pure Vanilla watched as he rose, just above their heads.

They made eye contact.

‘Jester’ looked away first.

Well, that suggested how he still felt about him.

Maybe…maybe this strange situation was a chance to reopen conversation between them? Based on how Assistant and Save acted, with a gentle love, and how Imitation cooed and doted over Sage, he could hope, couldn’t he?

Pure Vanilla closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ready to suggest comparing stories. When he opened his eyes, however, he gave a start.

A small scroll floated in front of him.

“Read it,” Blue urged, stepping closer. “Maybe it has a clue?”

Pure Vanilla took it as urged, breaking the seal. When he unfurled it, a blank piece of parchment met his eyes. “It-” He paused before he could reveal it didn’t say a word, watching as gold and blue words etched themselves out.

To the others bound together by Truth and Deceit.

You need to learn about your different sides

Intimacy is the best way.

There are bedrooms in the manor.

(Have fun!)

The two groups fell silent.

“Wait, intimacy?” Assistant said, his face flushing. “As in, physical intimacy?”

“I guess, based on the comment about bedrooms-”

Pure Vanilla looked up and gave a start.

He now stood in the light of day. He stood in his gardens. He was all alone, save for a gardener who gaped. “How did you do that?” they said, their tone baffled. “You suddenly just appeared!”

“I…” Pure Vanilla looked down. The scroll was still in his hands. The words winked at him. “I don’t know.”

What on Earthbread was that?

Notes: Pure Vanilla: Awakened Pure Vanilla Nilly: Pre-Awakened Pure Vanilla Healer: Healer Cookie Fortune Teller: Fortune Teller Cookie T.R.: Canon Truthless Recluse Reclusey: Truthless Recluse from the Peak of Truth story Assistant: An AU where the witches made the Ancients to serve as companions to the Virtues to keep them from corrupting Imitation: My version of a swap AU. Nobody is certain what exactly Imitation is the Beast of, since he keeps that knowledge distorted. Vivid: Viridescent Daydream costume Blue: Pastel Blue costume Shepherd: AU where Pure Vanilla stayed a shepherd, never attending Blueberry Yogurt Academy and never receiving the souljam. Kitsune: That one fox China-exclusive costume Jester: OG Shadow Vanilla Fount: Fount of Knowledge Sage: Same AU as Imitation Actor: Same AU as Sage and Imitation, basically Shadow Milk's version of Healer Cookie, where he became an actor with amnesia Azure: Lady in Azure Sheep: Big bad wolf Shadow Milk Save: Same AU as Assistant, here the Fount suffered some effects of corruption but managed to save himself Swap: Sage of Truth from Peak of Truth story Shadow: Sage's version of Truthless Recluse Awake: Awakened Sage

[whorediaries-09]

Girliee I have a request for kinkotober hehehhe

Sirius x reader with body worshipping and ‘please let me fuck my babies into you’

omg he’s just so perfect I can’t. Thank you!

yeah he's way too perfect 🫡

you're screwed up and brilliant;

pairing- artist!sirius black x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. a/n- to be sirius' muse 😮‍💨

prompt- body worshipping + 'please let me fuck my babies into you.'

the diner. kinkotober masterlist. kinkotober rules.

sirius has never been the one to break his own morals. through all the years he's worked on his art, with various models sitting on the stool while they posed for him, he's gained enough experience to control his emotions and not let his art persuade him. he'd taught himself to believe that his art was nothing but strokes on his canvas, and he wasn't in love with any of his models.

but sirius didn't know what he was putting himself through when he decided to hire you as his model. from being just strokes of paint on canvas, from you being just a model to be his muse. he didn't know how it began, or when it began. maybe it was after you'd admitted that you were more interested in his art rather than the cheques he wrote for you. maybe it was after you'd remembered the order of his favorite tea which he'd revealed once in flowing conversation. maybe it was after you'd lingered around him, looking at the different paintings on his walls. maybe it was after he'd realized your efforts of trying to get him know better.

you always lingered around his chamber, making conversations with him. today however, feels different. it almost feels as if you linger around for a purpose. he doesn't know if it's because of the request-or rather his wish he'd accidently spoken about to you, or if it's something different.

'do you think i can't be a nude model for you, sirius?' you ask. he doesn't reply. he stares at you, trying to study your body language.

well you certainly hadn't forgotten about his words, even though he'd told you to.

'no, no, it's just th-' he stops as you walk closer, leaning towards his form where he's sitting. his eyes travel up and down, taking your form in, the one he'd only dreamed up so close. your finger is on his lips, quieting him.

you see his pupils dilate, the artery on his neck vibrate faster. his crotch tightens against the fabric of the slacks he's wearing. his breathing grows ragged, and behind his pupils his gray eyes darken into a storm of growing desire. you smirk, running your tongue over the top row of your teeth.

'you're so precious, sirius,' you say. he unconsciously spreads his legs, and you straddle him. 'you know that?' you ask. you take his hands into yours, placing his cold touch on your hips. he grips the delicate fiber of your sundress, pulling you closer. his lips sooth over the burning skin of your neck, as he breathes you in.

it's slow, delicate and intimate as he eyes you up and down. he's pushes his hand between your skin and the fabric of your dress, his touch electrifying. he feels your wet arousal seeping through your underwear onto his groin. he groans, bucking his hips at the feeling.

'you're so beautiful,' he whispers, as if breathless. his hot breathe tenses over your warm skin and you moan, as his fingers feel the stretch marks on your hips. he digs his nails into them, his lips loitering over your skin, as he tries to feel every uncovered part of you.

'you drive me fucking crazy,' he says, tightening your legs around his waist and picking you up. he places your bottom on his desk, throwing away the tubes of paint, the mug of dirty paint water and his brushes. right now, he could care less about those.

right now, you were his art.

'i know that,' you tease. he chuckles, voice low, throat raw. right now, he could practically feel his heart beating against his ribcage, as if trying to be free from the strong confines. he'd finally gotten you just like he'd wanted, in his dirty dreams of sins. the nights he'd woken up, soaked in cold sweat, his cock erect and leaking against his sweatpants. he had stroked himself at the thought of your distinct scent and the moan that had once left your lips when you'd dropped a vase on your toe.

'no you don't,' he said, slowly untying the ribbons of your dress. he took his time, eyes and hands exploring your body, counting the moles on your skin, watching as the sleeves of the dress slip from your shoulders, revealing your chest to his hungry eyes. he takes a deep breath, his fingers digging tantalizing over the skin of your inner thighs, so close to where you need him, yet so far away. you practically feel your vulva swell with need as he kisses the nape of your neck, soft and sinful, trailing your jaw but never reaching your mouth. there's nothing he wants to do but, ruin you. ruin you for everyone else but him.

he presses his finger against your clit, watching as you bend your back, and spread your legs wider for him. his touch is cold, a contrast against your heated core.

'you don't know how many nights i've spent, withering on my bed, at the thought of you, at the lack of you,' he says, on his knees. he bunches the fabric of your dress at your hips, kissing his way towards your core. 'you don't know how much i've tried to control myself. you don't know how many times i've wanted to bend you over his desk, and fuck you till the only thing you remember is my name. you don't know how many times i've touched myself at the mere thought of you,'

you clasp his head between your thighs, his mouth at your core. you knead your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to your sopping core.

'show me then,' you say, voice fumbling at the feeling of his tongue against your slit. 'show me how much i don't know. show me how much you've been restraining yourself,'

as soon as your words register into his brain, he knows he won't stop. he can't stop. he plunges his mouth into your cunt, licking and kissing away like a starved man, while simultaneously thrusting his fingers into you. it's like he's known your body for your entire life, and he knows exactly how to bring you to the edge of your pleasure. he knows exactly where to touch, lick, kiss and press to have your walls pulsating around him in a mere moment of minutes.

and just like that, your core tightens, and your thighs do too, as you feel your orgasm plunging at it's climax. you bite your lip, trying to restrain the moan which hangs at your lips.

'cum for me,' he says, the vibrations of his voice harsh against the sensitive bundle of your nerves. your thighs shake as you release yourself onto his tongue, and he laps up every bit of it like a quenched man.

'fuck,' he says, standing up on his feet, kissing, licking and biting your body as he does so. he's gentle as he lays your back on his desk, sliding down the dress across your body. he throws it on the floor, unzipping his trousers, and pulling down his boxers, revealing his cock in all it's glory.

he catches you staring at his cock, and smirks, as he lines it up against your slit. he holds you close by his waist, against his chest. he's slow, taking his time to feel you as he enters you. he feels your wet, pulsating walls around him, the sounds leaving your lips a sweet melody to his ears.

'oh fuck, sirius,' you groan, with his first thrust.

'that's right darling, say my name,' he encourages you, his lips on your hairline.

he starts pulling his cock out, and pushing it back in, first slow, letting you adjust to his size and girth. you feel the nerves on his cock against the walls of your cunt. his tip touches your sweet spot, and you almost lose your mind.

'god, sirius you're so-so-good,' you whimper, almost pathetic. your toes curl as your core tightens. he hides his nose in the nape of your neck, taking in your scent. it feels like the nights he'd fucked his fist, at the thought of your intoxicating scent.

except it's not, and he's actually inside you, feeling you in all your glory. he's doomed, it was destined to be doomed.

his thrusts grow erratic, and you tighten around him, with your toes curling and mind blackening. you see stars with each of his unrhythmic thrusts, the coil of orgasm boiling in your stomach, before your breathes falter and you release yourself around him, painting his torso with your orgasm.

'fuck,' he groans, running his fingers through his sweaty inky locks. you feel him throbbing inside of you, his libido wearing off.

'god, you're driving me so fucking insane, m'love. please let me fuck my babies into you,' he says, holding your chin, his eyes gazing into yours.

'please,' you whisper, cunt sensitive, with his thrusts. he whimpers, before releasing hot ropes of his cum into you, filling you up to the brim.

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